


Reincarnation

by Blue_Finch



Series: For Better or Worse [2]
Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Near Death Experiences
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-01
Updated: 2015-06-23
Packaged: 2018-01-07 01:00:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 23,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1113625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blue_Finch/pseuds/Blue_Finch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based loosely on events after End Game and before Althea, Especially Lethe. 3x08 to 3x11<br/>If you haven't watched these episodes this fiction contains minor spoilers.</p><p>No one actually dies, this ends happily, but you may be cursing me along the way</p><p> <br/><b>Updated Chapters too</b><br/>  <b>At long last...the Epilogue</b></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sacrifice

**Author's Note:**

> This will be a long, tear-jerker of a ride.  
> I'm not quite done yet, but I'm almost there.  
> My betas are loving/hating this and me.  
> So thank you again Managerie and TimelessDreamer2  
> I've given Ma'am a real name and job, cause at this writing she's just ma'am. But it's not a reference to any real person living or dead as they say  
>  **Updated to call her Control**  
>  Hope you enjoy, cry, scream, call me names  
> I rated this explicit, cause there may be some eventually I think, but mainly mature until then  
> As always only my words are mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finch heard Hersh acknowledge, “Yes Ma’am”, before the man pulled his gun and fired.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reincarnation- the soul learning from a prior life and reborn into the new one having the chance to do things better, different than they had in their existence on earth before-or can one die and chose be reborn and continue on the same journey as before, to finish things left undone?

  

**_*Reincarnation*_ **

**_Harold Finch had read a lot about reincarnation, the belief that the soul, upon death of the body, comes back to earth in another body or form or that reincarnation was the rebirth of the soul in a new body._ **

**_Being a man of science, Harold had certainly had his doubts; nothing was ever proven definitively to his satisfaction that reincarnation in any way could happen. That is until he’d briefly regained consciousness in an ICU-ward, the bed he was in surrounded by silent life support machines and sitting next to it a quietly weeping John Reese._ **

**_Reincarnation- the soul learning from a prior life and reborn into the new one having the chance to do things better, different than they had in their existence on earth before-or can one die and chose be reborn and continue on the same journey as before, to finish things left undone?_ **

~*~*~*~

Harold alternately looked from Shaw, helpless to do anything with a gun pointed at her head and the woman holding a gun on him, the fake Diane Claypoole, now known to them as Control.

How could he have not recognized the woman before this moment? She looked older and her hair was different from eleven years ago, but it was her  **—** Angela Moser. Harold had seen her once up close in a video feed he’d set up for one of the first meetings between Nathan and the NSA committee. It was the one where they’d given Nathan the go ahead to build The Machine.

Moser was some kind of intermediary between the White House and the National Security Association. Her post, if Harold could remember, was officially NSA Liaison to the White House in regards to the Freedom of Information Act. This amounted to monitoring requests for information by common US citizens that might uncover the project while keeping the cabinet members including the President in the dark regarding Northern Lights.

Ingram had received the go ahead to build Northern Lights. Nathan was the front man and apparent creator while Harold did the actual programming and building of The Machine, all the while staying hidden in Ingram’s shadow. Moser hadn’t been present in any of the subsequent meetings. It had been Special Counsel Landau who Ingram had officially sold The Machine to; Alicia Corwin or Dentin Weeks were the ones Nathan had always dealt with otherwise. Moser had faded into the background and also from any public limelight seemingly doing her job as Northern Lights was still a highly kept secret.

Now staring down the barrel of her gun, Finch realized how ruthless and evil the woman was. She had in the performance of her duties, ordered the murders of countless people who had knowledge directly or indirectly or had gotten too close to the truth about the project.

Harold visibly started. His eyes widened in fear and realization, when it dawned on him. The ferry explosion! Nathan and all those innocent victims  **—** collateral damage  **—** killed in a feigned act of terrorism authorized by her. They were all murdered in the name of secrecy as well as her ultimate goal to possess The Machine for her own nefarious agenda. The agenda had been sidelined temporarily with Northern Light’s physical disappearance, but not abandoned. If controlling The Machine was seemingly out of reach, she obviously was seeking its identical. The one that was created by Author Claypoole, yet not perfected or allowed to be, because Harold had made his own design work first.

Control, Moser, or whoever she was, noticed Harold’s shaken reaction and smiled wickedly, “I see you recognize who and what I am. You realize I have no problem killing either one of you. So what is it going to be?”

Finch knew Claypoole, his mind deteriorating and his memories confused or forgotten, had no idea where Samaritan’s drives were now. Control would kill him regardless. Harold couldn’t let it happen that way. Arthur was dying but Harold wouldn’t let it be at Moser’s hands. They’d kill Shaw too for just being in the room. If he could just play Control long enough for Shaw to get Claypoole and herself to safety.

“All right, I’ll give you what you want,” Harold conceded, hoping that his years of practiced deception would make them fall for the ruse. “I have one stipulation. You let Mr. Claypoole and my associate leave, unharmed.”

Moser was not easily convinced though and threw Harold’s words back at him. “It wasn’t even thirty minutes ago you claimed you couldn’t help us. Besides my associate was there at the warehouse with you months ago. You had no idea where the servers and the black box for your creation had gone. Maybe I should just kill you and take my chances with my dear Arthur here.” She raised her gun once more and pulled back the hammer, the click echoing in the quiet room.

Harold swallowed back the fear that choked him. “I-I don’t know where Northern Lights is at now, but I know who does. That woman… Robin… you sent your man to kill her at the psychiatric hospital; she knows and I have her. I’ve confined her for her own safety and that of others. She’s developed some kind of symbiotic relationship with The Machine. And it frightens me that it communicates with her. It shouldn’t be happening but it is. She torments me that it speaks to her, has revealed its location to her and not to me. She won’t tell me, but you have your ways to get answers.”

”Now why would you give this woman up when you so obviously think you all are some kind of guardian angels?” Control, no Moser's, question was filled with menace and a bit of doubt. The hand holding the gun extended further, aiming directly into Harold’s face.

Harold straightened his body to its full height then stepped even closer towards the woman and the weapon she held on him. Harold couldn't show fear right now of the repercussions of lying to her. He had to make her believe he was telling the truth.

“The woman kidnapped me twice, killed Dentin Weeks right before my eyes and was going to kill me if Ms. Shaw hadn’t wounded her first. The lives of Mr. Claypoole and Ms. Shaw are more important to me right now than that of a lunatic.”

“All right, I’ll give you an hour.” Control accepted the explanation and lowered her gun. “What are your terms?”

“Ms. Shaw and Arthur leave here unharmed. No one follows them. When she calls me to let me know they are safe, I take you to Robin.”

“Let them leave!” Moser barked without glancing behind her. She knew her people would jump to do her bidding. “Give Shaw back her phone, nothing else.” Control glared at Finch then. “Agent Shaw doesn't call within that hour, you die Harold. If you are lying, I will have you killed and I promise you I will hunt them down and they will suffer before I kill them too.”

She snapped the order to her men and then waved her gun in the direction of the sofa. “You sit!” Moser motioned Finch to do just that.

Shaw guided Arthur to the door, turning once to look back at Finch, her eyes asking if he was sure. Harold nodded slightly and she turned without a word, escorting Claypoole out the door with her.

Exactly fifty-nine minutes later Control answered Finch’s cell they had seized from him earlier. She laughed mirthlessly and tossed him the phone, “It’s for you.” Shaw assured Harold that Claypoole was safe and asked once more if Harold was sure. "Yes." Finch confirmed before Hersh grabbed the phone.

Two hours later Harold was in a car, along with Hersh and the other two guard dogs, the driver pulling into the alley behind one of his safe houses. Moser had declined to join them; the woman staying somewhere she would be untouchable as always. She had left them with a repeated warning that she would be watching and waiting, emphasized in no uncertain terms what she would have them do if Harold was lying.

Two hours and thirty minutes later, Harold was standing in the middle of the safe house’s living room as Hersh called Control to report that Harold had indeed lied. He was still getting his instructions when guard dog number two had yelled that Shaw and another woman were in a car slowly moving up the long driveway.

Finch heard Hersh acknowledge, “Yes Ma’am”, before the man pulled his gun and fired.

The force of the bullet’s impact threw Finch backwards onto the floor. The pain was excruciating. When Shaw knelt beside him, Harold clawed at her hands and called out for John. The fire and agony finally stopped then darkness enveloped him.

 ~~*~~


	2. Nathan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harold couldn’t see across the lake, the sun low in the western sky and reflecting off the water in a golden-blue shimmer. He raised a hand to his eyes, blocking the late afternoon rays, to watch a sailboat pass. Further on to see the tree-lined far shore. This was Green Lake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So begins Finch's brief journey 'on the other side'

  

Harold couldn’t see across the lake, the sun was low in the western sky and reflecting off the water in a golden-blue shimmer. He raised a hand to his eyes, blocking the late afternoon rays, to watch a sailboat pass. Across the water he could see the tree-lined far shore. This was Green Lake.

Nathan and he hadn’t been here in years. Finch, he’d only been Harold Wren back then, recalled the times they’d spent together at the lake as if it were yesterday. The images were no longer distorted as happens with the passage of time, but fresh and alive. The sounds of the lapping water and of laughter echoing across the lake were no longer muted.

Harold looked about him; he was standing on the short wooden dock where they had kept their old blue and silver Evinrude. Harold turned around and shook his head disbelievingly. It just couldn’t be! There on the shore not two hundred feet away stood their old cabin nestled among the pines, a thin line of smoke extending from the chimney skyward.

It had been razed decades ago, a new one built in it’s place before they had sold the property. The money from the sale was invested into their fledgling company  **—** IFT. Both of them had been too busy to take time off anymore to go fishing.

Yet, there it was before him. Harold was drawn toward it like a moth attracted to the light and started walking in its direction.

Finch had only taken a few steps when he noticed. His limp and the barely tolerable discomfort of just putting one foot in front of the other were gone. In disbelief he dropped his chin to look down; his hand immediately flew to the back of his neck. The scarring, the protrusions of metal just under his skin were gone too. Harold experimentally rotated his head side to side without having to twist his upper body. It was as if...he stepped close to the edge of the pier and stared at his reflection in the water below. It bent and twisted with the rippling of the water’s surface, but gazing back at him was twenty-two year old Harold Wren.

This just couldn’t be! His all too analytical mind screamed at him. He was middle-aged Harold Finch now and Nathan was gone. Harold turned once more to study the cabin. He didn’t understand it but he sensed somehow an explanation for why this was happening would be found in the old cottage.

Harold advanced cautiously, half expecting what he beheld before him to waver and disappear like a mirage in the desert. He really didn’t anticipate feeling firm ground beneath his feet or to hear the crunch his footfalls made on the gravel covered walkway. It was the same as he climbed the steps; the wooden handrail was worn smooth through years of use but solid in his grasp.

Finch debated with himself if he should knock or just go on in. Opting for the latter he pulled open the screened door, its hinges protesting with a loud screech. He turned the knob of the unlocked entryway and pushed it open gradually, then stepped inside. 

There was a man standing at an old wood stove tending something frying in a cast iron skillet. Harold’s jaw dropped with shock when the man turned to look at him. The face smiling a welcome was his friend Nathan Ingram, a young Nathan Ingram.

“Hello, my friend. I’ve been waiting for you. Come in, sit down over here,” the Nathan of their youth waved him towards the old butcher block table. “Food’ll be ready in a minute. That is if I don’t burn it.” The blonde man chuckled in that low bass rumble Harold remembered so well.  “Come on and sit down. I know you have questions, but please, sit first.” 

Finch did as requested, sitting at his old spot at the table. Harold waited while Nathan dished up two plates of pan fried trout and golden fried potato and then sat down pushing one of the plates in front of him. 

“Nathan where are we?” Harold couldn’t remain silent another moment. “You’re…” Finch paused not wanting to say the words.

“Dead? Yes I am and this place is kind of like a waiting area. I know you are thinking none of this can be real. It’s not real in an earthly, physical sense. It’s just...this place is special. The best things that happened in your earthly life can be recreated here. And they can be just as real as they were when you were alive.”

“Nathan...am I...did the gunshot...kill me?” Harold didn’t think he wanted to hear the answer. He hadn’t expected to live, hadn’t really cared if he did, but still the finality of his life frightened him.    

“No Harry, you’re not dead yet.”

Finch smiled at the nickname, Nathan hadn’t called him that since college.

Nathan face lit up as he looked about the cabin's interior, “That’s why we are here in this place; things were different, better then. Our future was ahead of us; before both of us messed things up.”

Harold was taken aback and thought to protest but Nathan raised a hand to silence him. “I’m not talking about starting IFT and making it the success it was, or building your machine and what happened because of it.” Young Nathan lifted his head to look directly at Harold, a sadness now filling his eyes. “I’m talking about us, what we did with our personal lives and what we did to ruin them.” 

Nathan took a deep breath and let all the love and restrained longing show clearly in his eyes. “Harold, I wished you had said something, anything to let me know how you felt. Maybe we might have had a chance together, you and I. But, I didn’t know. Maybe I wouldn’t have wasted all those years married to Olivia and cheating on her with any woman who took an interest in me. I denied it to myself by being the heterosexual playboy, that you were who I really wanted and thought I could never have.”

Harold blinked in surprise, “But...but Nathan it was obvious. I was a pathetic, lovesick fool. Everyone on campus knew. They called me Ingram’s Faggot behind my back.”

Nathan shook his head. “It might have been obvious to you or the frat boys, but you never said anything to me. I thought it was one sided. You never told me they called you that. How was I to know you returned my love? I had never even known a gay person at that time much less how to recognize a man interested in me.”

Nathan’s face radiated with hope for a brief moment. “I can’t lie to you. I want you to stay here in this place, with me. We have a chance to be together now.” A sadness then filled Nathan’s eyes as if he accepted that it would never be.

“You have a decision to make Harold. I have to tell you everything. That’s the rules. I know someone’s replaced me in your heart and I have to tell you he needs you too, maybe more. He loves you.”

“John?” Harold's voice quivered sadly, remembering what happened between Reese and Detective Carter. “John doesn’t love me.”

“Harold, I know what you believe. But, you’re wrong. Like what happened with us, John doesn’t know how you feel. He’s looking for something that he’ll never find anywhere else. Trust me.”

“How could he not know? We were...intimate.” Harold’s words were soured with the heartbreak. “We were, together, that morning. Then everything happened with Carter. I understood and I offered to be there for him, I loved him that much. Instead he just left me without a word.”

Nathan smiled ruefully, “Intimate? You had sex but never told him you loved him. How intimate is that? How many times did I have sex with someone I barely knew much less cared for? Harold, do you understand now? Just having sex with a person doesn’t mean you love or even care for them.”

“No Nathan.” Harold protested nodding his head negatively. “John knew. I did everything I could, even risked my life for him, to show him how much I loved him. It didn’t matter. He chose Detective Carter over me.”

Nathan grabbed Finch’s arm and shook it. “Same old Harry, keeping your feelings locked and hidden away from the ones who matter most. Haven’t you been listening? Actions don’t always speak louder than words, dear friend.”

Harold pulled away from Nathan’s grasp and looked around the cozy room. “Maybe I should just stay here with you Nathan,” Harold choked out. “John never told me he loved me either. Maybe I fooled myself into believing he did. I know now that you do. I can’t go back Nathan, to someone who may never truly be mine, when everything I wanted with you I can have.”

Nathan reached out and held Harold's hand between his two larger ones. “There’s nothing I want more. It’s just...it’s not what you want. I won’t let you settle. You need to at least tell John how you feel. Tell him. He knows you would never lie to him.”

Harold looked at Nathan’s strong, elegant fingers with their slight tan. John always managed to keep his tan year round. Harold looked up, realizing he was thinking of John even as his mouth was promising to stay with Nathan. “I love him. I tried to show it like when I romanced Grace but men are different aren't they?”

Nathan smiled with shining eyes, “Men can be dense, especially your type: tall, handsome, fabulous hair, but not real bright.”

Harold smiled then frowned. “How can you be so sure John still feels anything for me? He kissed Carter. Maybe he got tired of waiting for me?”

Nathan tilted his head as if he heard something off in the distance. “I think I know someone who can answer that for you.”

 

~~*~~

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter is all John, having hard time writing him, maybe cause I'm still annoyed at him.
> 
>  
> 
> update....holiday hiatus.....I skipped the arc of_____. I still want to give John a swift kick in his tush.


	3. John Reese — Misunderstandings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John had left New York, not sure if he would ever return, but that was because of the complete mess he’d made of everything, not disillusionment with Finch and their mission. Never had Reese regretted taking the job Harold had offered, saving lives had been important, not pointless. Why he’d said that to the detective Reese couldn’t justify. John just shook his head again with confusion, ‘what the hell is wrong with me?’ he questioned himself for the millionth time. John was trembling slightly now, his body chilled from the cold rain, his soul cold from despair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this got to be so long I broke it up  
> never could get it the way I wanted it  
> hope you like it anyways

  

John Reese alternately toed off each foot of his well-worn Dingo boots and stripped the foot of its sock while leaning against the door jam. Accomplishing that without falling flat on his face, Reese padded barefoot towards the shower. Moving across the room John peeled off his muddied, rain-soaked clothing, tossing them all on the threadbare carpet of the cheap roadside motel he’d been staying in the past week.

While waiting the five minutes it always seemed to take for the water to get hot, John checked himself out in the mirror above the sink. There was a bruise on the left side of his chin starting to turn a dark bluish-green but that seemed to be the only mark Fusco had left on him from their scuffle in the parking lot.

Reese looked downward on his reflection at the still angry-red scar his hand’s length below the right collar-bone and rotated his shoulder slowly. He still felt discomfort with the movement but it hadn’t been worsened by the altercation. John really hadn’t thrown any punches of his own, only having raised his arms to deflect Lionel’s. Still one of those deflected blows had caught him in the shoulder.

John grabbed the edge of the sink with his hands and lowered his head lightly shaking it negatively. John understood Fusco’s anger with him and quite frankly if the roles had been reversed he would have done same thing. Reese just didn’t know why he kept saying things he knew he didn’t mean.

John had left New York not sure if he would ever return, but that was because of the complete mess he’d made of everything, not disillusionment with Finch and their mission. Never had Reese regretted taking the job Harold had offered; saving lives had been important, not pointless. Why he’d said that to the detective Reese couldn’t justify. John just shook his head again with confusion, ‘What the hell is wrong with me?’ he questioned himself for the millionth time. John was trembling slightly now, his body chilled from the cold rain, his soul cold from despair.

Finally the ancient plumbing was letting hot water spray out the shower head. John stepped inside, closing his eyes, willing the heated water to warm his chilled body and spirit. A single tear rolled down his face soon mixing with the shower’s spray, “Harold…”

_Finch had texted Reese to come by the safe-house after John saw their latest number off aboard a flight to Los Angeles, he had matters to discuss. Reese had smiled like a fool the whole drive back from JFK knowing when Harold wanted to meet up at the apartment instead of The Library talking about a case wasn’t the only thing his partner had planned._

_Reese wasn’t surprised to find a catered dinner complete with flowers and lighted candles set up at the long table. Harold was out of his normal three-piece suit, opting to wear a midnight blue vest, matching tie stippled with silver diamonds, and blue pinstriped shirt._

_They were John’s favorites, of course._

_And as always, while they ate the excellent meal, John eventually steered the conversation away from case related subjects. If Reese were to question Harold on anything of a personal nature, he would tell John everything and nothing about himself. John didn’t mind the subterfuge, he knew enough about his partner._

_When the meal was over and cleared away, John feigned leaving for the night. Harold had softly asked him to stay, taking John’s hand in his. With his free hand, Harold had pulled John down for a kiss. One kiss would end, they’d pull apart long enough to catch a small breath and kiss again, each one longer and more open mouthed._

_Harold dropped the hand he had held and was running his now free hand up and down John’s back. They’d moved slowly, kiss after kiss, hands reverently caressing while undressing the other, until they reached their destination, Harold’s room and its antique four poster bed. John tried to ease their fall to the mattress, still Harold had moaned briefly in pain, John’s weight upon him. He tried to slide off Harold’s body to keep from hurting him more but Harold just wrapped one arm firmly across John’s back a hand splayed over his shoulder while Harold used his other hand to pull John’s head down for another kiss. John’s concern was fleeting as Harold’s whimpering between the now frenzied kisses was caused by pleasure not discomfort._

_And kiss after kiss their passion grew, each man growing painfully erect. Reese wanted to sink himself on Harold’s hardness that was pressing into his stomach, only now they both were so desperate for climax that John just reached between them, wrapped his hand around them both, and slicked by leaking fluids, he’d stroked them both off._

_When the high of sexual release had faded away both men had just drifted off to sleep, too content lying in the other’s arms to leave the bed._

The rapidly cooling spray of the shower snapped John out of his reverie. He turned the faucets off and grabbed a towel to quickly dry himself before his skin chilled again. He grabbed the remaining towel, wrapping it around his waist and stepped out of the shower.

Flopping on the bed in the main room, John didn’t even think to get redressed, the room felt warm enough that he didn’t need to. Reese just wished to fall asleep and escape his thoughts for a little while.

Reese brought his arm over his eyes and closed them; however, sleep didn’t come to him. Thoughts of his and Finch’s last time together would not be quiet.

_Harold was already up, showered, dressed and back to business as usual when John opened his eyes to pale morning light. With the day’s beginning it was as if there was nothing between them except the working relationship as partners not one as lovers._

John loved the all special things Harold did for him and his hands on John intimately... but again he felt what they had was just physical and nothing more. John only wanted Harold to tell him in words just once that he loved him. But he never did and Harold told John once he would never lie to him. Harold had never said, ‘I love you’, because he didn’t. But John had been so wrong in believing that, he’d found out too late.

Later that day they had found out Carter had escalated her plan to bring down HR. Finch had him go one more time to offer their help, which she’d promptly turned down. Only later when thing’s had reached a critical point, Carter had called Harold needing help. Finch had assisted Carter setting the trap.

Reese, Finch and Shaw had been in the Library making their final preparations. Shaw had volunteered to be the one going in when Finch gave the “Go” getting Carter away from Simmons and Quinn. But Reese had vetoed that, telling them both it was not that he was better qualified but he had a score to settle with Simmons and Carter trusted John more. Shaw would be on call in case something went wrong. She had argued vehemently against John but Finch had the last say and she had huffed out of the Library.

John had made his preparations to leave to wait outside the judge’s house. He didn’t know why he expected more than the “Be careful, Mr. Reese.” Finch had cautioned him with. Harold barely looked away from his monitors when he’d said it. It had hurt somehow that Harold hadn’t shown more concern.

Reese sat up and launched a pillow across the room. John had everything he wanted with Harold, why did he need vocal affirmation from the man to realize that?

John had stormed into the judge’s house, extricating Carter from Simmons, away his men and then both of them had fled, Quinn in tow. They’d had to evade crooked cops and the dregs of New York City out to kill him trying to take their captive to the FBI and ended up hiding temporarily in the city morgue.

Reese knew it wouldn’t be long before someone would get to them; either crooked cops or criminals, so he’d made the decision to lead the scum away as a diversion making a sacrifice of own life. Harold would come through, get Carter to safety and Quinn to the FBI.

John swore under his breath. He’d only told Carter the things he did hoping that she wouldn’t feel too much guilt over his death while helping her. And Reese never should have mistaken the emotions he and Carter had felt at that moment for anything other than those of the true friends they had become, but he had.

Finch had come through for both of them, helping Carter get Quinn to FBI headquarters and finding good cops to arrest John and lock him safely behind bars until the dust settled.

Maybe if he had had a chance to figure out what he felt for Carter was only deep love for a friend...but Simmons had shot him and killed Carter. She had died in his arms, before he’d passed out. Coming too alone in that hospital bed, John was so overcome by grief and anger, he’d become a killing machine once again.

He had mercilessly tracked down Quinn when finding Simmons had been impossible. For all of Quinn’s posturing about loyalty he’d given up Simmons all too quickly. All Reese had to do was walk away, only the killer inside him had meant what he said and John turned ready to fire.

“Mr. Reese.”

John choked up as he remembered Harold’s sweet caring voice, trying to tell him he wasn’t a killer anymore. John knew his life was ebbing away and all he wanted was for Harold to save him once again. But the killer inside was still strong in John and he’d pulled the trigger anyway.

~~*~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> to be continued


	4. John Reese — Change of Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John had been in and out of it for days. Finch was never far away from his bedside. Only once when he heard Shaw telling Harold to go get some decent sleep that she would watch John for a while, did Harold ever leave for any length of time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for returning

  

John had been in and out of it for days. Finch was never far away from his bedside. Only once when he had heard Shaw telling Harold to go get some decent sleep, that she would watch John for a while, did Harold ever leave for any length of time.

John had been lightly sleeping without medicinal aid, no longer wanting sedatives to help him rest, when he felt Harold sit beside the bed once more. John kept his eyes closed as Harold took his hand and quietly confessed.

“I’m so sorry John. If I could do anything to change what happened to Joss, if it was in my power, I would make it so. But, I can’t. All I can do is help you get through losing her, if you’ll let me, as your friend. That’s all we can be now, maybe that's all we should have been. I still love you John. I always will.”

Harold had finally told him what he’d wanted to hear all along, only there had been goodbyes in those anguish filled words. Finch had thought John had fallen in love with Carter.

Everyday Harold was there as John got better, trying to be the supportive friend. He would catch Finch looking at him with such heartache and sorrow; it was tearing John up inside. That’s why John had left so abruptly without a word. He couldn’t bear to see this special, wonderful man hurting anymore because of him.

John threw back the covers in frustration. He’d left without a goodbye hoping Finch would just give up and forget about him, but Harold still sent Fusco to check on him.

“Damn it! Why can’t you just forget about me? I’m not worth it, Finch,” John hissed under his breath, decision made

John dressed in a dry set of clothes, threw the rest of his belongings, damp clothes and all, into his old army duffel and tossed it on the bed. Reese was determined to leave again without a word, only this time he would go where Finch or even The Machine itself wouldn't be able to track him down.

He was sitting in the room's only chair trying to pull on one of his still soggy boots, when someone started pounding on the door. Instinct had Reese reaching behind his back for the gun that was no longer hidden there; he'd left all of them behind when he'd fled New York. John pulled the three inch knife out of its sheath in the boot he'd just dropped going for his non-existent gun and crept the few feet over to the door.

John yanked it open and flashed the knife menacingly after he saw it was only Fusco through the door's peephole.

“What? Are you threatening your friends with knives now?” Fusco jumped back eyeing the knife.

“What do you want now Lionel? I'm not really dressed to go another round with you.” Reese grumbled trying to sound irritated at the interruption. John moved back from the door though motioning the detective inside and tossed the knife on the chair he had been sitting in. Reese really didn’t want any passer-by to call the police on them again.

Fusco cautiously entered John's room and closed the door behind him. “Well you look like you're dressed to me,” Fusco popped off noticing John's completely clothed state minus one boot. “No. I didn't come here to go another round with you. Look, I just wanted to tell you I'm headed back to New York. I'm leaving for the airport in an hour. Glasses paid for two tickets. I think he was hoping you'd want to come home but...” Lionel looked at the duffle tossed on the bed and the partial opened bureau drawers.

“You're taking off again, aren't you? You son-of-a-bitch!”

“Look, I don't know what's going on with you and I really don't give a damn. But I do about Four-eyes. He doesn’t deserve this crap.”

John grabbed Fusco by the jacket front and growled down at him, “His name is Finch or Harold; you call him Four-eyes or Glasses again....” John shoved the detective away from him and then turned away. “Yeah, I'm taking off again. Go home Lionel.”

Fusco straightened his coat collecting himself before continuing, “ **Harold** doesn’t deserve this crap. I was there, remember? I know what he did to find you and then take care of you when you tried to kill yourself going after Simmons. You think Shaw was the only one who had to drag him away from your bedside?

Fusco raised his voice, close to shouting this time. “I was with him when we walked into that room to find that bed empty and you gone. I saw what it did to him. Harold's lost without you. It's like he's put everything on hold waiting on you to come back.”

“You want to run away, pretend you don't care, you go ahead. You don't deserve someone who loves you like Harold does. I just pray he doesn't do anything stupid when he figure's it out that you ain't comin' back.”

Fusco tried to calm down enough to reason with John. “Look Carter loved you Reese. I was her partner remember? So maybe I know a little something about how she felt. We talked, you know? She knew who your heart belonged to. She knew she could only love you as a friend.”

Fusco watched John stiffen his shoulders but continued on, “So if you're doing all this because you think you lost the love of your life and it's your fault, you're wrong. What happened wasn't your fault and you lost a...friend...who loved you. You haven't lost the person who is in love with you. Not yet. Just don't wait too long. I'll leave this if you change your mind.”

With that Fusco placed an airline ticket on the dresser and slipped out the door.

“I know Lionel, I realize that now.” John confessed to the now empty room. “I know who loves me and I can't keep hurting him.”

Even more determined to leave, John picked up the boot he dropped and the knife off the chair, slipping it into its sheath, before he dropped himself back in the chair and shoved his foot into the boot. He was getting ready to walk out the door when something Fusco had said stopped him cold. Harold wouldn't really do something stupid. John kept telling himself that over and over, but it won't stop the fear clenching his gut that Finch had done just that.

John grabbed the ticket and shoved it in his coat.

***

Lionel was only faintly surprised to see Reese sitting in the passenger seat of the rental car. “What no backseat this time?” Lionel taunted, thinking about the other times Reese was in a car with him.

 "Shut up and drive Lionel!”

~~*~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well you made it. Yayyyyyy!!!!


	5. John Reese Comes Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John only asked “What hospital?” And was down the steps on his way to New York City General not even asking why or what had even happened. John knew the something stupid he never thought Harold would do had happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had such a hard time writing this. And it probably shows. But it needed to be written somehow to continue on.

  

Reese and Fusco had spent the two hour drive to Denver International Airport in a truce-like silence, Fusco not questioning why Reese had changed his mind and John not offering any explanations. John doubted Lionel would believe him anyways about the knot of fear that twisted in him every time he sensed Harold was in some kind of trouble. Let Fusco come to his own conclusions about why John ended up in the rental car instead of on the run to parts unknown.

They made good time driving through Denver's early morning traffic. They parked in the Avis Rental Car lot. John had offered to get their bags, Reese's duffel and Fusco's leather overnight, out of the trunk while Lionel rushed into the small rental car office to turn in the keys and pay for the car. The shuttle that bused passengers to and from the various car rental lots was due by in fifteen minutes.

John remembered to pull his knife, sheath and all, from his right boot and tossed it in Fusco's overnight. He didn’t think they'd question a N.Y.P.D. detective why he had a boot knife in his bag along with his service revolver. Reese didn't want any hassles trying to board their flight back to New York.

Everything went smoothly, even though John was tense and edgy the whole time, from boarding the shuttle to finally taking their seats in the first class section of the _United 278_ flight to New York.

Fusco had not been oblivious to John's nervous state and how it intensified after Lionel had tried to call Finch's cell several times to let him know they were returning, each of the calls ended up going to the phone number's in-box. Now that the flight was in the air, he could literally feel John's tenseness every time they'd brush against each other in the still close confines of airline seating, first class or not.

Lionel leaned over quizzing John where only he could hear, “You afraid Harold's not gonna be there when we get back?”

“Something like that.” John leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes hoping Lionel would take the hint that he wasn't saying anything more.

“Okay then.” Lionel got it. “Well I didn't get any sleep last night. Guess I'll catch a few hours before we land.” Fusco leaned back in his own seat and was sound asleep in seconds.

John was mentally and physically exhausted but couldn't fall asleep so easily even though he hadn't slept more than a few hours at a time in the weeks he's been away. Guilt had been eating away at him constantly and now added to that was the foreboding sense that something was horribly wrong.

Harold was okay, John kept telling himself over and over. He had to be.

Needing to believe everything was okay, that Finch was fine, and his gut feeling was wrong this time, John watched out the window going over and over in his mind what he would do when he returned. Harold might not welcome him back with open arms, but he wouldn't turn John away either; that's how the man was. They would go back to working the numbers, John was sure of that; he needed that purpose again. But, he also needed Harold and not as the friend Finch had offered to be.

John wasn't foolish enough to believe Finch would want to just go back to the way things were between them as lovers. Add to that with John just abandoning the man, Harold may not even want to offer Reese his friendship anymore. No matter how many times John apologized for or tried to explain what happened with Carter, Reese had to accept what he and Harold had would never be like it was.

Nothing could be done to repair the damage he had caused to their personal relationship. There was no going back.

But what could Reese do to assure Finch they could move forward? How could he convince Harold that they should try again when he himself believed he didn't deserve Finch as a friend, much less as a lover? Every approach John tried out in his mind seemed doomed for failure.

Three hours later John still had no plan of what to do; Reese had made a decision regardless. If he had to, John was going to actually get on his knees and beg. Even if he had to do it in front of Shaw or Fusco, Reese was going to beg to be allowed into Harold's personal life again **—** in anyway Harold saw fit. It did seem a little overly dramatic for a man like John Reese but he was just that desperate.

About twenty minutes before they landed John had to hit the head. Once he was finished he washed his hands and made the mistake of looking at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. Harold would be mortified when he saw Reese. John's current disheveled appearance alone might make Finch turn Reese away before John could even beg for his job back let alone anything else.

The haggard face looking back at John screamed ‘grieving for Joss’ and would certainly give Finch the impression that John had left to drink himself to death again. If John showed up at The Library looking like the homeless man Finch rescued from the precinct, Harold would be pained and saddened. Finch would think John cared nothing for him beyond friendship. How could John show Harold that leaving was a reaction to hurting Finch, not losing a woman?

Maybe if Reese wore that Glenn Check suit from the Wall Street case, Harold would see that John cared only for him. Finch had painstakingly altered that suit by hand. Each stitch reflected Harold’s pride in John. Reese would only wear it on special occasions to please Finch.

Decision made, John felt lighter. Yes, it was not going to be easy and Reese would have to work hard to regain the trust they had built up. However, John had difficult missions before with little to no chance of success and he marched in with guns blazing to complete the task. The rewards from victory this time were the greatest of his life: Harold.

The plane landed without incident. They had claimed their bags and walked to Fusco's personal vehicle left in passenger parking. Fusco had already tried several times to reach Finch by cell phone but yet again was met with the same results. Fusco apologized that as much as he wanted to help Reese find Harold the detective had to be at work in twelve hours. Lionel needed to get some sleep as well as check on his son, so at John’s suggestion he dropped Reese off a couple of blocks south of his loft.

It hadn’t even been three weeks since Reese had been here last but it seemed like a lifetime ago when John unlocked the door and went in. The day he had left his apartment with only the clothes on his back, his old duffel crammed with whatever he grabbed in his haste to leave and his emergency stash of cash was just as surreal in remembrance as it had felt at the time.

When John turned on the light and looked around he was puzzled to find the apartment not in the complete disarray he had left it but seemingly not a thing out of place. Even the bed he’d left unmade the last time he’d slept there was straightened up.

It didn’t take long for Reese to figure out who had been there when he found one of Harold’s favorite books on the coffee table, an extra pair of Finch’s glasses on the stand next to the bed and even Finch’s favorite silk pajamas laying on top the folded blankets at the foot of the bed.

It didn’t take a trained ex spy like himself or a seasoned detective like Lionel to figure out that Harold had been sleeping at the loft, apparently since the day John had left. The only thing Reese couldn’t understand was why. Harold had his bedroom at the safe-house and ones in the dozens of bolt holes John knew Finch had. He’d tracked Harold to enough of them via the glasses' bug in the months following Finch’s first kidnapping by Root.

John dropped the old army duffel on the floor and sat down for a few moments on the bed. He reached over and picked up the Harold’s pajama top and brought it up to his face, the scent of Harold's cologne and of Finch himself, still heady in the cloth.

Reese felt like a lovesick fool; he actually laughed to himself, ‘Yes John that’s what you are.’ He went to replace the top right where he’d found it when John noticed his own undershirt folded among Finch’s night clothes. It was the one he’d last wore; the one he had tossed on the floor while changing into his street clothes before running away.

John put his head in his hands. Of course, Harold was doing for himself what he had done for Bear. John remembered what Finch had told him about their dog and what Harold finally had to do to calm the bereft canine while John had been incarcerated and then held captive by his revenge minded ex CIA partner.

Harold had been living in John’s loft, among John’s possessions, sleeping in John’s bed even, to feel close to Reese. Like John had just been doing, like with their dog even... just the scent of who they loved most brought them some kind of comfort.

And John was ashamed he had doubted Harold still loved him. Even after all the pain John had caused the man, given him reason to think John had loved someone else and then left without a goodbye, Harold was here in the loft among the belongings of the one he loved most.

If John hadn’t already felt like the biggest imbecile on the planet, he was feeling it now. So what if Harold had never said it in words but once, Finch had showed him a thousand different times in a thousand different ways how much he had loved him, still loved him.

But not once had John told Harold or even showed him that his love was returned. Harold might be one of the smartest men on the planet, if not the smartest, but Harold wasn’t a mind reader. John had spent four long hours on the flight home trying to think of something to do to prove to Finch that they could start over. The answer was staring him in the face all along. Show Harold you love him, that you always have and you always will.

Forty-five minutes later **—** freshly showered, shaved, smelling of citrusy soap, and the exotic scent of the cologne Harold had given him and smartly dressed in the Glenn Check suit **—** Reese nervously climbed the Library steps. The whole drive over John had practiced his, ‘Forgive me Harold, I love you’ speech.

John was hopeful that he would find Harold sitting in front his monitors maybe researching a number he and Shaw would be working on. Never in a hundred years did he expect Root to be out of her cage and of all things working on something at Finch’s computer station. Thankfully he hadn’t brought a gun of any kind because at the moment he was tempted to shoot first, ask questions later.

When Root noticed his presence in the room, she sneered at him, “Well look. If it isn’t the prodigal pet come home.” John was sorry then that he wasn’t armed. He wanted to shoot her and not in the shoulder like Shaw did once.

Root dug in once more with, “Why aren’t you at the hospital with your master?”

The gut feeling that something was wrong and John had been trying to ignore the past twelve hours came back full force almost making John double over in pain from the intensity.

Root’s malicious taunting surprisingly turned to mild concern and she actually sounded like she cared when she asked John, “You don’t know, do you?”

John only asked “What hospital?” And was down the steps on his way to New York City General not even asking why or what had even happened. John knew the something stupid he never thought Harold would do had happened.

~~*~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for sticking with me


	6. Harold Meets With Joss Carter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She sighed and looked out over the water again. “I realized then what happened between John and I was just two friends comforting each other in a time of crisis. I think John understood that too; eventually. But Simmons exacted his revenge before John and I had a chance to figure out what we were feeling together.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long.  
> It's kind of short.

  

Harold scanned Nathan’s face, the person Finch had loved most of his adult life, loved almost as much as he loved **—**  loves John Reese now, “I don’t understand Nathan. You actually want me to go?”

Nathan’s eyes lost their teasing light and he spoke sincerely, “No, I do not. I want you here with me. But I had my chance and I don’t deserve another one when you know as well as I do it’s not what you want. Not really. You loved me for how long? Did you ever once feel like your life wasn't worth living after I married Olivia? When I turned to anyone but you, did you just give up? You were steadfast and tenacious. You were strong where I was weak.”

Nathan continued on. “I had the option to be true to myself, to take a chance with you. I didn't. I had my chance Harold and I never had the guts to take what I needed. John tried but he just didn't know you returned his love. You didn't give up on me for nearly three decades and countless women. Don't give up on John for one weak and fleeting moment when he thought he was going to die."

“Nathan, I didn't give up on John,” Harold agonized, his perception of John’s actions tormenting him still, “He gave up on me,” then lowered his head in grief.

Nathan reached out grasping Finch’s shoulder in comfort, then forcibly to confront Harold with the truth. “Look at me.” Harold raised his head then, searching his friends face with sorrow-filled eyes. “Didn’t you? Why are you here now?”

Seeing that his words were still falling on deaf ears, Nathan offered Harold a compromise of sorts. “Nothing I can tell you will ever convince you how wrong you are, but there is someone waiting out there,” Nathan looked toward the door again, “that possibly can help you understand.”

Nathan promised, “You hear what she has to say and if you still decide you’d rather stay in this place with me, I’ll be here.”

Finch looked uncertain. He stared at Nathan for a few heartbeats then sighed. Slowly, as if he still had his injuries from the explosion, Harold rose and made his way to the door. With his hand on the handle, Harold took one last look at the beauty and familiarity of his best friend and first great love.

“Nathan you are wrong, John never replaced you in my heart. You, Grace ... both of you will always be there.”

With another sigh, Finch turned and pulled the handle to be blinded by the setting sun bouncing off the sparkling ocean at the pier where he and Carter had met so many times, with John and Leila, with Fusco when Carter told Harold about Stanton and the bomb vest, when Carter had information on a case that she would only give him in person.

Sitting peacefully, perfectly silhouetted by the light was the unmistakable figure of Joss Carter. Harold hesitated not wanting to converse with John’s lost love. However, when he turned back towards the cabin everything was gone. Only seagulls could be seen scrounging for food on a weathered dock. With no other options now, Finch made his way to join Carter on the bench.

She looked over and smiled, “Fancy meeting you here. You know some people are going to be mighty pissed you took a vacation.”

She turned back to look at the sea, “Especially John.”

Harold sat down beside her on the bench to look out over the water with her. Harold inquired doubtfully, “Why John? He’s the one that ran away after you were...sorry...murdered. John never accused me personally, but I think he blames me and...”

“Your machine, Harold; I know now.” Carter offered, smiling faintly.

Harold nodded with a fond smile of his own, “Yes, you figured that out. I was deeply impressed.”

Finch shrugged, frowned and then went on, “John held me and The Machine accountable. As soon as Mr. Reese was strong enough to stand on his own, he just left. I tried to be the friend John needed to help him cope with losing you, but he went away without a word.”

Harold voice broke, “So I ask again, why John? I believe Mr. Reese couldn’t forgive me for using the Machine to save his life and attempt to stop him from killing Quinn when I refused its help in bringing down HR. I doubt he’ll even care if I’m gone now.”

“Oh, Harold.” Carter nudged into Finch, chastising him. “Is that what you think? John cares more about you now than he ever has. John left you because he couldn’t stand hurting you anymore, not because he blamed you.”

“John wasn’t hurting me, why would he think that?” Harold turned to Carter, disbelief written all over his face. “If anything I hurt him, I selfishly kept him to myself, when I should have seen he had developed feelings for you.”

“What feelings, Harold?” Carter asked puzzled. “I had thought once we could be more than friends and had even hoped for more, but I could see it would never be. John only had eyes for you.” Carter admitted sadly.

Watching Harold’s doubting scowl, Joss inquired indulgently. “You don’t believe me do you?”

Harold looked at her briefly before turning away with a dejected sigh, “No. I was watching and listening. I heard him thank you for changing him. I saw John kiss you.”

Carter put a hand on his shoulder apologetically, “I’m so sorry Finch. I shouldn't have let that happen. I knew how John felt about you. I should have sensed something was off when he started thanking me for things I knew you were responsible for. Yet, for a brief moment I believed what he was telling me and I hoped maybe we could have that relationship beyond friendship.”

Carter put her hands in her lap and lowered her head. With a sense of guilt she confessed. “I kept that desire alive even as we walked out of that precinct. Then I saw you and the love on your face. The flame of promise quickly died. John was, is, and always will be yours.”

She sighed and looked out over the water again. “I realized then what happened between John and I was just two friends comforting each other in a time of crisis. I think John understood that too, eventually. But Simmons exacted his revenge before John and I had a chance to figure out what we were truly feeling for each other.”

Two tears trailed down Joss’ cheek. “Can you ever forgive me?”

Harold offered sympathetically, “There is nothing to forgive. John loved you. It wasn’t because of anything you did or didn’t do.”

Carter got up from the bench and started walking away, “Please walk with me Harold. I need to tell you how wrong you are. I don’t have much time.”

They fell in step together as Carter continued, “John still loves you. I can tell you these things because I see them now. He didn't leave you because of me. John left because of what he felt he did to you. John regarded his actions as a betrayal to you. And what did you do because of them? You saved him from himself and offered to still be his friend. John ran away because he couldn't bear to see the pain you tried to hide because you believed you had lost his love.”

She swallowed. “John is lost without you; he needs you now more than ever. You need to see for yourself. Nothing your friend Nathan or I have been saying to convince you is working.” She stopped and turned to Finch, “I will always love both of you as the dear friends I came to know. This is where I have to say goodbye. You need to see for yourself in there.”

Harold turned to look ahead and there was New York City General. “Why here?” he turned back to ask Carter, but she was gone.

~~*~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise not to drag my feet chapter 7 will be up tomorrow.
> 
> Update: Shame on me, that didn't happen. ;(


	7. John Reese and Root

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It had dawned on Reese that he couldn’t go charging into a hospital wanting to see a patient not knowing their name or even their injuries. Calling Fusco to get his help failed immediately as John’s call to the detective’s cell went unanswered. So that left Samantha Groves to tell him what he needed. She knew what had happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised !!!!

  

  _Before Reese gets to the hospital_

Reese was halfway to his car parked its usual three blocks from The Library when he pulled up short. That earned John a, “Watch what you’re doing asshole!” from the man who collided with John’s back. Reese apologized as the man continued on, glaring at John as he went by.

It had dawned on Reese that he couldn’t go charging into a hospital wanting to see a patient not knowing their name or even their injuries. Calling Fusco to get his help failed immediately as John’s call to the detective’s cell went unanswered. So that left Samantha Groves to tell him what he needed. She knew what had happened.

As much as John loathed the idea of even being near Root, he had to accept that apparently she was the only one who could give him the information he needed right away. John would just have to endure being near Root and listening to her barbed comments.

Turning around, decision made, John rushed back to The Library. Taking the steps two at a time he burst into the main room. Root was still in Harold’s chair working at something on Finch’s computers. Resisting the temptation to just rush over to where she sat and yank Root out of the chair, John stopped a few feet away and demanded through clenched teeth, “What happened?”

Groves turned in the chair, not surprised at John’s return nor phased by his animosity filled question.

“What happened?” Root echoed before answering the question accusingly. “You John. You're what happened.”

John clenched his fists in frustration, “Stop with the evasiveness and the insinuations. Tell me what happened to Finch.”

Root chuckled mockingly, “You asked, I just told you the truth. You happened, John.” But watching Reese barely control himself, Root sensed she was pushing him too far. “Okay I just couldn’t resist. I’ll tell you. You won’t like it, but it’s the truth.”

John hissed out, “Tell me, no games. I just want to know.”

Reese moved to take up a position a few feet away, next to his and Harold’s board of numbers. He folded his arms and prepared to hear the worst John was positive Root would gleefully torture him with.

Only the truth Groves tortured him with was more horrendous than anything he had imagined and as Root caustically relayed more of what had transpired in his absence, Reese understood. John knew what she meant by he was what happened and every word became a stabbing, piercing wound to his heart.

“Harold freed me you know. I offered _our_ help when you and your friend Carter were in trouble. Only he found a way to help you both without our help, even though you were unfaithful to him.” Root accused him mercilessly. “Only when you were in trouble trying to kill yourself over her did Harold accept _our_ help. Harold was so worried about you that he turned to _us_ to find you.”

Root seeing John’s tormented look kept on attacking cruelly “And what did you do to return his devotion to you? You abandoned him without even a goodbye. Without you Harold just gave up the noble mission you two were on. _She_ kept sending him numbers and he repeatedly ignored the calls. ”

When John shot a concerned look her way, she smirked, “No don’t worry, _She_ managed to find ways to help them. It wasn’t until I personally had to give him the number of his old college friend that Harold decided to act.”

Strangely Root’s tone went from one of spiteful allegations to one of regret. “We were all supposed to work together, but Harold lost faith in _Her_ more than you did. He didn’t accept our help. Harold and Shaw tried to protect his friend on their own. We couldn’t warn them, _She_ accepted Harold didn’t want our help so I stayed here.”

Grove voice trailed off as she became lost in her own thoughts. John faintly pressed her to go on, “Warn Harold about what?”

Root trembled vocally, her tone a mixture of sadness and anger, “Our friends from the NSA couldn’t find _Her_ so they found a possible replacement, one that Harold's friend Arthur tried to create and supposedly failed before the government shut his program down. She tricked them, pretending to be Arthur's wife.” Root huffed and ceased speaking.

John probed when Root was silent again. “Who tricked them?”

Groves stood up from her chair while picking up a photo print out and walked over, handing it to John. “Her name is Angela Moser, Control she calls herself. Moser is the one behind the curtain, responsible for the deaths of hundreds to keep _Her_ existence a secret. When Control discovered she not only had Arthur Claypoole, creator of another non-working machine but also, Harold the creator of The Machine, she threatened to kill whichever man didn't give her what she wanted.”

Root’s voice took on its scathing accusatory inflection again. “Now do you understand why I said you happened, John? Harold didn’t care if he lived or died after you deserted him. He gave himself up for Claypoole and Shaw, knowing Control would have him killed for tricking them. He saved them John by giving himself up.”

John could only choke out, “Harold?”

Root scoffed, “Like you care.” Then seeing she couldn’t damage Reese anymore with her venomous recriminations Root returned to the desk and continued grimly, “Shaw came here too late to get our help for us to save him. One of Control’s men shot Harold before we got there. I tried to follow Control’s puppets but they disappeared. They all know how to avoid _Her_. Shaw managed to get him to the hospital alive. She is with him now. John, the surgeons did all they could.”

John tried to hide his quiet sob.

“He’s not dead John.”

John put his face in his hand, trying to hide the tears filling his eyes. When he thought he had his emotions checked, he looked at Root and asked, “What name?”

“Harold Tanager, Shaw is his niece. Go see him, John.” Root told him, surprisingly sympathetic. “We’ll take care of Control and her dogs. Trust us.”

John thanked Root. He would never trust her, but for now he had no choice. Only Finch mattered to him and that was all John cared about right now.

Finch was still alive. John hurried back to his car. On the drive to the hospital he prayed that Harold would hold on. Reese pleaded to any higher power that Harold wouldn’t pay the ultimate price for John’s own insecurities and disastrous decisions.

It seemed like forever but it was only thirty minutes before John arrived in the hospital lobby and asked for Harold Tanager’s room. John was thankful he had the foresight to stop by the loft first and grab his John Brandon ID. John Brandon was Harold Tanager’s adopted brother. Only when he supplied ID did hospital security escort him to Harold’s room.

John opened the door to the room and was met by a very angry Shaw.

 ~~*~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things get really sad now. But have faith!


	8. John Reese and Shaw

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “We did what we could, but there were complications after the surgery. Mr. Tanager was coming out of the anesthesia and was responding normally and then he just stopped breathing. We think a blood clot formed during the surgery and caused a major stroke. While we were able to revive him, he’s on a ventilator now; his brain was still deprived of oxygen for a long period of time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy Shaw here as much as I loved writing her

  

Shaw sat in a chair in a corner of the private room that she had requested for Finch. Her alias as the niece and only blood relative of Harold Tanager allowed her to do so.

The room being located on the first floor ICU ward wasn’t ideal, but she had a one hundred and eighty degree view of the front of the building and anyone coming into the hospital via its main entrance.

A person or persons entering any other way would alert hospital security and herself included as she’d tapped into their communications. Everything they were saying came through to her earpiece.

From her chair’s position she could keep watch outside the building and at the same time the door to the room. If anyone managed to get past security and came through that door, they would be dead before they crossed the threshold. Shaw was going to do her damnedest to protect Finch and keep Hersh or Control’s men from getting to him again, even though...

Shaw listened to the whoosh of the ventilator, the whirl and beeps coming from the life support machines keeping Harold alive. Gen was right that she did have feelings that were simply turned down so low Shaw never felt them; because right now she was seething with anger towards the man who had shot Harold and also at John Reese for it ever happening.

Shaw had seen for herself how despondent Finch had become after Reese had walked out on him and their mission. She should have done something to stop Harold from giving himself up to save Author Claypoole. Shaw knew Finch would never lead them to Root or the Machine through her. Harold was committing virtual suicide going with Control and her men.

Shaw had gotten Claypoole to safety and with Root’s help they’d located Finch and his captor’s at one of Finch's safe-houses where he had taken them on the ruse Root was being held there. Something had alerted Finch’s captors of their arrival however; they were gone when she had entered the house. She’d found Harold lying in a pool of his own blood.

Shaw had called *911 and reported her uncle had been shot. She’d ran to the restroom, grabbed a handful of clean towels and then back to where Finch had fallen, to kneel beside him. She’d used one of the towels to apply pressure and staunch the blood flow. Sameen could still feel Harold’s hands grabbing at her wrists trying to pull her hands away and his moans of agony.

“I know it hurts Harold, I’m trying to stop the bleeding.”

“Ms... Shaw?”

“It’s me, Finch.”

“Joh--John?”

“He’s not here Harold. I’m sorry.” 

Harold’s hands had then fallen away as he cried out one last mournful sob.

The ambulance and EMTs had arrived and taken over. She’d ridden with them in the ambulance and waited outside of the ER for hours while the doctors worked on Finch.

“I’m sorry Miss…”

“Tanager,” she’d told the one who came from surgery to speak with her.

“We did what we could, but there were complications after the surgery. Mr. Tanager was coming out of the anesthesia; he was responding normally and then he just stopped breathing. We think a blood clot formed during the surgery and caused a major stroke. While we were able to revive him, he’s on a ventilator now, his brain was still deprived of oxygen for a long period of time.”

“Will my uncle recover?”

“Even though he may breathe again on his own, he won’t be able to eat without a feeding tube. We ran some brain scans and the prognosis is not good. While he may regain consciousness, it’s highly unlikely he’ll be able to think, to reason, or even know you are in the room. Chances are at this point, a complete recovery would be a miracle. I’m sorry.”

The police had come, asked their questions of her and left, reporting Tanager’s shooting as a home invasion gone wrong. The officer writing down the report shook his head, “Without a description from your uncle it is unlikely we will catch the perpetrators.”

This shouldn’t have happened. And now, because of Reese and what he did, the one person in the world who actually gave a damn about her was nothing more than a human vegetable. If Reese came through that door right now, Shaw thought as she palmed the Glock hidden inside in her coat pocket...

Shaw couldn’t believe it when the man himself opened the door just then. She was out of the chair and had Reese pinned against a wall, her forearm across his throat before the door swung closed beside them.

“What the hell are you doing here Reese? Why aren’t you still off on your drinking binge over Carter?”

Reese choked out, “Let me go, Shaw I am here to see Finch.”

Shaw angrily pushed away, resisting the overpowering urge to just crush John’s windpipe.

“Well there he is. Look all you want because that’s about all you can do now because Finch ain't talkin'. Harold’s gone damn it and it’s your fucking fault.”

“Shaw, I know it’s my fault,” Reese admitted his voice breaking.

Shaw didn’t want to hear a word he said or believe him and angrily kept going off on Reese. 

"You should have been there backing us up but you were off somewhere drinking. Fusco maybe could of, but he was off chasing down your sorry ass because Finch was worried about you. You broke his heart when you left, but Harold still worried about you. You should have been here then maybe Harold wouldn’t have sacrificed himself.”

Reese winced at her words and Shaw saw they had cut deep. Now that she saw blood she wanted to open the wound and make him hurt. “Harold gave himself up because he didn't give a damn anymore if he lived or died. You did that to him. The only person in twenty years who’s actually cared about me and showed it and now he’s a fucking vegetable. Do you know how much I want to kill you right now?”

Shaw started to advance against a remorseful John Reese still shocked at the vehemence in Shaw’s words. He didn’t want to fight her off but...

Just as both were about to come to some kind of blows Finch’s attending physician walked in.

~~*~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things will get better


	9. Anger, Pain, and Heartbreaking Choices

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dr. Holden swallowed hard, trying to not sound unsympathetic, “Mr. Tanager lost a lot of blood, and unfortunately blood loss may have led to the formation of a blood clot during surgery and the resulting stroke. Blood loss was starving his brain for oxygen, the stroke denied it completely. When the brain is without oxygen for extended periods, it...it shuts off. No amount of surgery or therapy can reverse the damage.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long. It's not a happy chapter and again I'm sorry.
> 
> Things will look up and soon.

  

The doctor knocked briefly on the door and walked in while reading Harold’s charts. “Mr. Brandon, I am Doctor Holden. I am your brother’s attending physician. The duty nurse informed me of your arrival. I have been waiting to speak with you.” He paused for a moment after looking up at the two red faced relatives. He cleared his throat and apologized, “I’m sorry for interrupting.” Looking from one upset family member to the other he continued sympathetically, “I know this is an emotional time and I am truly sorry to add to it, but there are some things we need to discuss unfortunately.”

Shaw backed away and took up her seat in the darkened corner of the room. The conversation between the Dr. Holden and Reese didn't concern her; she had been informed already her foster uncle was Mr. Tanager’s legal surrogate. She had been the one in the waiting room, with Harold’s blood on her clothes and the first one to find out about the complications. Shaw was the one to hold Harold’s cold, still hand, when they had brought him into recovery, not Reese, and her anger rekindled. The person she felt was responsible for Harold needing machines to keep him alive was now the one to decide to have them turned off.

The mention of her name snapped her out of her murderous thoughts, “As per Ms. Tanager’s request, we ran the tests again.” The doctor took a deep breath and then said resignedly, “Mr. Brandon, we did more scans on your brother. It was not good. Mr. Tanager has failed all the tests for motor function and brain wave activity.

Shaw watched John pale, heard him take in a shaky breath, his voice broke. ”What are you saying?”

Dr. Holden glanced over at Shaw and she only shrugged her shoulders. Puzzled he turned back to John. “Mr. Brandon, I am sorry this sounds cold. Harold is by all definitions dead. It’s just his body doesn't know it yet. We have him on a ventilator and a feeding tube, to keep him alive. But what Harold is now is only a shell, a vegetable in layman’s terms. He will never recover.

Shaw jumped up from her chair in surprise when John trembled, swayed and collapsed almost at her feet. The doctor tried to call for an orderly, but was stopped when John insisted he was fine and tried to struggle to his feet.

Shaw’s anger was barely diminished even though she helped Reese to stand. John pulled his arm away, insisting, “I...I’m fine. I just need to sit.” John moved the chair Shaw grudgingly offered him next to Harold’s bed and shakily sat down.

John took Harold’s hand and sadly caressed it, “There has to be something. Can you bring in experts? Money is no object.”

The doctor once again looked to Shaw, his eyes questioning why she hadn’t explained Harold's condition to another family member with caring and shared concern. His stare was only returned with a cold smile.

Dr. Holden swallowed hard, trying to not sound unsympathetic, “Mr. Tanager lost a lot of blood, and unfortunately blood loss may have led to the formation of a blood clot during surgery and the resulting stroke. Blood loss was starving his brain for oxygen, the stroke denied it completely. When the brain is without oxygen for extended periods, it...it shuts off. No amount of surgery or therapy can reverse the damage.”

The doctor stood at the foot of the bed understandingly giving his patient’s brother a few minutes to regroup. He certainly didn't have knowledge of the relationship between his patient’s niece and her foster uncle, but it did not appear to be a close one. The anger and stress were palpable when he’d walked in the room earlier. What he was about to say would be extremely upsetting, he didn't want to add to it. The physician’s sympathy went out to the brother, the more distressed of the two.

Regretfully though Dr. Holden had to continue, “I’m sorry Mr. Brandon, I’m afraid there is really nothing we can do. We can only keep him on life support, but for how long and when to terminate care is up to you.” 

“The decision has to be yours of course, as his surrogate, but did your brother ever talk about organ donation or about his last wishes? Did he mention if he would prefer to be on life support forever or would he loathe the idea of being this way?”

Reese recoiled from the thought of Harold unable to use that brilliant mind. The prior injuries, his limp and neck, had never stopped him, but this? To just lie there, immobile, to be poked and prodded every day, to have to be bathed and catheterized. Harold would rather be dead than lose his dignity.

The doctor put away the chart, glancing surreptitiously from the grief ridden brother to the openly hostile niece. Sympathetically he spoke to both relatives, “I know this is a hard decision to make. I’ll leave you both now to discuss what you think is best for Mr. Tanager. “

“How long?” John choked out as the doctor turned to leave.

Misunderstanding Dr. Holden told Reese they didn't have to make the choice right away. “No, how long?” John asked again. When the doctor grasped what John really meant he shook his head sadly, “He could be like this for years, or within weeks or months his body could start shutting down too.”

Sensing how torn John was feeling, Dr. Holden offered truthfully, “Mr. Brandon, speaking to you not as your brother’s physician, but as someone who also has a brother they love very much, I would not want my brother to be kept alive like this.”

“Thank you Doctor,” John whispered huskily. With a nod and a solemn goodbye, the physician left the room.

Shaw glared at John once more before she icily informed him, “I’m going to go now and take care of the man who put the bullet in Finch.” She moved to the bedside opposite John, leaned down and kissed Harold on the forehead. “You can’t leave him like this, John. This is not what Harold would want.”

When he looked up what John saw was not compassion in her eyes for Finch, but contempt for him.  “I still want to kill you for this,” Shaw admitted acidly, “But that would be too quick, too merciful. Having to decide to end Harold’s life will be more painful than anything I could ever do to you.”

Shaw turned to go, was opening the door to leave, when John’s broken desperate plea stopped her, “Do it anyways, Shaw.”

“What?” she spat.

Reese turned to her, his face gray, his eyes bloodshot and his mouth gaping open. “After this,” John swallowed, “kill me too.”

He turned back to Finch. Shaw just watched for a moment then left without a word.

When the door closed behind her John didn't have anything left within him to move from the chair, so he remained there, holding Finch’s hand and silently weeping. “I love you so much.”

John laid his head on Harold’s chest and closed his eyes. The sounds of the machines around them faded away. They were in the safe-house, lying in bed, his body curled lovingly around Finch and Harold stroking his hair with the steady beat of his heart beneath John’s ear lulling him to sleep.

The warning tones from a heart monitor in another room heartlessly startled him awake. John shut his eyes again, wanting to return to his dream, but his mind couldn't block out the sounds. The beating of Finch's heart **—**  colored waves on a screen **—** along with the rise and fall of his chest that were synchronized blips on a monitor in tune with the swooshing sound of the respirator were all a cruel reminder that Harold was gone.

John sat up defeated and brushed his fingertips along Finch's cheekbone. “I don’t want to let you go, but I can’t make you suffer like this either. I won’t ask you to forgive me Finch because I’ll never forgive myself.” John pressed the call button to the nurse’s station and asked if Dr. Holden was still on the floor.

~~*~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The sky will clear soon and there will be a rainbow


	10. Love, Loss, and Fate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “That’s what I’m here to show you. You really couldn’t protect anyone on that list of yours at first. Not me, not anyone.” Jessica took Harold’s hand and held it between hers. “That is the something good to come out of this. You and John both lost people you loved dearly — myself, Nathan, your fiance. But as painful as these things were in your lives it brought you and John together. You and John have saved so many lives. And you found each other. You found love again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter before the best part

  

Harold spun around, his eyes searching the sidewalks and streets in both directions, both were astonishingly empty. He didn’t see Detective Carter, anyone else or anything for that matter. No traffic, pedestrian or vehicle. The streets were deserted. Finch scrutinized the buildings around him. The landscape was exactly as he remembered only devoid of any living or moving thing. Harold Finch was alone. With no idea where to go besides the direction Carter had shown him, Harold walked through the automatic doors of the hospital.

The interior also was as Harold remembered from the one time he’d been there. Inside the hospital was as empty as the vacant streets and surrounding buildings. 

Finch took a few more halting steps into the hospital lobby. He was completely at a loss where to go or what to do next. The information desk sat empty as well as the chairs in the waiting area to the right. The hospital gift shop to his left was vacant **—** its selections of balloons, stuffed animals, flowers and other various items waiting to be purchased by relatives or friends of a patient.

Harold raised his hands and beseeched the empty vestibule, “Where do I go now?” Silence was his only answer.

Carter had said he needed to see something in here and deciding here meant somewhere else in the hospital Finch moved towards the bank of elevators and hallway in front of him past the reception desk.

Astonishment turned to shock when as Harold moved forward someone brushed past him dashing towards the reception desk. There was now a smiling elderly woman at the desk and the tall, salt and peppered haired man speaking to her was....John.

Harold stood there in stunned silence as he heard a very distressed John asking what room his brother, Harold Tanager, was in while introducing himself as John Brandon. John was told the room number and was heading for the elevators by the time Harold was able to collect himself enough to weakly cry out, “John!” Harold took a step forward and loudly called out, “John!” once more when the other man kept going.

“He can’t see or hear you,” offered a female voice to his right.

Harold turned to see a woman sitting in the previously empty waiting area facing away from him and looking out the window. Although he wanted to follow John, Harold instead was drawn towards her. When he walked around the last chair in the row chairs in which she was seated, she looked away from the window and up at him. “Hello, Mr. Wren.”

A young Jessica Arndt was looking up at him, her smile warm and welcoming. “Please sit down, Harold. May I call you Harold? I can tell you're confused and a little shaken by what just happened. I’ll try my best to explain everything.” She motioned to the chair beside her and asked again, “Please, sit.”

Finch blinked then blinked again. He looked away from John’s first love towards the desk and elevators Reese had entered. The urge to follow John almost pulled Harold in that direction and decline Jessica’s offer. Only the kindly woman behind the desk disappeared before his eyes and except for Jessica, the lobby was empty once more.

Dazed and even more confused about what was happening here, Harold almost fell into the chair Jessica had offered him, his legs too unsteady to hold him up. The turmoil Harold was experiencing jumped two fold when he consciously tried to take a calming breath and it registered he didn’t need to breath at all now. Finch sat there for minutes it seemed not breathing, awed and yet puzzled that he didn’t need to.

“I was as confused as you when I first came here,” Jessica offered softly, then placed a reassuring hand oh Harold’s knee. “Everything is just memory here. Even breathing.”

Harold turned to the woman beside him, his jaw dropping. He swung his arm over the back of the chair, abruptly reaching out and opening his hand to indicate the empty desk, raising his voice irritably, “I just watched and heard John asking what room I was in. That was not a memory. I-I-I don’t understand what is happening!” Ashamed of his outburst Harold apologized. “I’m sorry Mrs. Arndt. This...place...it’s so strange. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do, where I am supposed to go. My friend said I needed to see something here.”

Jessica smiled and nodded. “Yes. Your friend was right. You need to see me. I am part of that something.”

“You?” Harold questioned tentatively his eyes widening. “Surprised as I am; it is nice to see you again. You were a special part of John’s life and someone still very important to him but I don’t know what you can tell me.”

Harold jolted uneasily when something occurred to him. “Mrs. Arndt? Are you here to...”  Finch tamped down the apprehension he was now feeling and continued, “Are you here to reprimand me for ignoring your need for help all those years, only to arrive when it was almost too late and then offer just words of warning.”

Harold turned from her, “I know I deserve any condemnation you have for me. It was heartless of me to discount the needs of one in favor of the needs of the many. I could have...I could have saved John so much pain if I just had done something sooner.”

Jessica took Harold’s shoulders and pulled the distraught man around. “Harold! I would do no such thing. You are in no way responsible for what happened.”

“I knew what Peter was becoming. I am the one that chose to stay with him, time after time. Even that day we met in New Rochelle I ignored your warning and went home to Peter. I was the one who called John too late to help me, not you.”

She smiled faintly at the guilt ridden man; her eyes reflected a moment of sadness before being replaced once again with peace and acceptance. “We all make choices, sometimes ones that have fatal consequences. Fate can be a cruel mistress and it’s hard sometimes to understand how something good can ever come from something horrible.”

“That’s what I’m here to show you. You couldn’t protect anyone on that list of yours at first. Not me, not anyone.” Jessica took Harold’s hand and held it between hers. “That is the something good to come out of this. You and John both lost people you loved dearly **—** myself, Nathan, your fiance. But as painful as these things were in your lives it brought you and John together. You and John have saved so many lives. And you found each other. You found love again.”

Harold looked away sadly, “I thought we did. I know I love John; I always will.” Only the doubt and hurt were just too strong for Finch to shake free of even now. “John gave up on us and he found someone new. When she died he left me, our mission, and New York without a word.” Bitterness tinged his words. “I don’t even know why he’s back here pretending to care.” Harold looked hard again at Jessica, “And I still don’t know why we are all here.”

“You’re a hard man to convince Harold Wren. Guess I’ll have to show you.” Jessica stood then and pulled Harold up with her by the hand she still held tightly. She dropped his hand and walked towards the elevators beckoning Finch to follow her.

They rode the elevator down one floor to the main level. Upon the doors opening and exiting the elevator, Harold was again shocked speechless. There were people on the floor. Doctors, nurses, volunteers, and visitors were going in and out of rooms — some rushing in and out, others not.

Harold followed his female guide to a door on the right. Again Jessica informed him, “Remember they can’t see or hear you.” The door opened as a doctor left the room. The two slipped into the room before the door closed behind him.

If Jessica hadn’t grabbed his arm Harold might have fallen to the floor in disbelief. There he was lying in a bed, a distraught John and a very angry Shaw on the opposite sides of it.

~~*~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll try to get next chapter done soon but I doubt today or tomorrow. Super Bowl tomorrow.  
>  
> 
> Update: Geez. Well Super Bowl was Super Bust.


	11. Decisions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title......Decisions.....says it all.
> 
> “I don’t want to let you go, but I can’t allow you to suffer like this either. I won’t ask you to forgive me Finch. I know I’ll never forgive myself.”
> 
> “I can’t let you do this John. I’ll find a way back to you.” 
> 
> “How can I get back to him? I love him. I can’t let John destroy what’s left of his life before he ends it!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well I do apologize again, really no excuse for taking this long.

  

When Harold was able to collect himself enough to stand on his own again, Jessica released his arm, but remained a steady presence by his side. While Finch’s legs no longer felt weak and unstable his voice still wavered and cracked in disbelief. “How....Is this really happening?”

“Yes, it is Harold.” Jessica placed a hand on his shoulder to reassure him and tried to explain what was going on around them. “We are allowed to visit those we left behind anytime, but in general we don’t. It’s too painful at first. Not actual pain, only like breathing, it’s the memory of it. It hurts just as much to remember. There are some who get past this and others who never do. I have been able to, that’s why I guided you here.”

Harold looked away from the scene before him and to the woman next to him, his face a mask of confusion and stammered, “Na...Nathan knew about John and I. H-How? Wh-why am I here? I-I don't understand...all I feel right now is confused.”

Jessica squeezed his shoulder and smiled indulgently, “I know it’s disconcerting.” She sighed heavily, “I know it’s hard to understand and I’m probably just adding to your turmoil. I’m sorry for that.” Jessica determinedly tried to explain anyways, “Your friend Nathan, he’s looked in on you, as much as he’s been able to. Even though he’s accepted your moving on with John, it still bothers him to actually watch.”

“As for you...it’s hard to explain. You’re still tethered to the world of the living. You can be here without having to make the choice to be, you just are.”

Harold, despite Jessica’s efforts to clear things up, was more confused than ever. Finch shook his head and started to plead for answers that he could understand, “I don’t...”  He halted before getting more words out and turned his head towards the confrontation between John and Sameen.

**_"I still want to kill you for this! But that would be too quick, too painless. Having to decide to end Harold’s life will be more painful than anything I could ever do to you.”_ **

Shaw’s voice was cold and dripped with hatred. Harold stepped back a bit, staring in disbelief as Sameen headed for the door.

**_“Do it anyways, Shaw.”_ **

**_“What?”_ **

**_“After this. Kill me too.”_ **

Finch looked on, stunned into silence, hearing Shaw’s vengeful words and John’s utterly defeated, hopeless plea for Sameen to end John’s own life as well.

Harold could see Shaw slam out the door in his peripheral vision but his focus was entirely on Reese. Finch watched the tears rolling down John’s face and heard his whispered, “I love you so much.”

The man standing, unseen next to Jessica, watched as his distraught lover leaned over the bed where Harold’s own body was laying. John rested his head on the still rising and falling chest of the shell that used to contain Harold Finch. Harold couldn't help moving closer to the bed and reached out to stroke John’s hair. “I love you too John, so much.”

Jessica looked on at the two men not intruding in their sorrow, but she remained there silently waiting, knowing that soon she would be needed again.

Harold didn't know how long he remained standing there stroking John’s hair and watching him sleep. _‘I can’t leave him but do I want to go back?’_ was the question that ran through Harold’s mind over and over. Jessica was here to help him, Finch knew he only had to ask her how he could go back and she would tell him, but he also had to ask of himself, did he really want to. Even after all he had seen and heard, after everything Nathan, Carter and even Jessica had told him, doubt still had a powerful hold on him.

And Harold needed to ask, to decide, but he couldn't move away from touching John just yet, feeling that connection. He would love John, always, but Harold still had doubts about the depth of John's love for him. John's feelings for Carter, his reaction to her death, John's abandoning him still hurt Finch deeply.

The screaming of alarms somewhere in the hospital and John’s jerking awake broke the spell.

**_“I don’t want to let you go, but I can’t allow you to suffer like this either. I won’t ask you to forgive me Finch. I know I’ll never forgive myself.”_ **

The idea of more suffering, of more physical therapy, of being even more of a burden in his own battered body was repellent to Harold. If he left this plane for good to be with Nathan, all his injuries would be gone. Harold would be free from his crippling prison of pain. He could be happy with Nathan for the first time ever. It was what Harold had always wanted with Nathan. The man would always be his first love.

Harold nodded to himself. Yes, leaving now would be best. John is young. He can start over. Maybe, maybe this time John could find a good woman and settle down. John would have made a loving and devoted father. Maybe John had wanted that with Carter and her son Taylor?

Right before Harold was going to take his final leave of John and this world, John’s broken plea to Ms. Shaw rang in Harold’s ears.  “After this. Kill me too.”

Harold's head whipped around to really look at John. No beard covered the handsome face this time. Yet, the desperation, the bleak reality, the loss of hope and lack of a will to live was written clearly on John’s haggard features. Just as John was planning to die on the streets of New York three years ago, once again John Reese welcomed death as a blessed relief.

If Harold died now, John would either get Miss Shaw to kill him or he would take himself out. Losing Jessica was a deep cut that had been re-opened by losing Carter. The wound wasn’t healed and would bleed out should another blow strike the man. Losing Harold right now would surely be a death sentence for John Reese.

“I can’t let you do this John. I’ll find a way back to you,” Harold cried out even knowing John couldn't hear him. He tore his eyes away from the man who had now taken one hand of the still body’s and Harold looked over at Jessica, still waiting patiently next to the room’s windows. “How can I get back to him? I love him. I can’t let John destroy what’s left of his life before he ends it!” Harold begged of her.

Jessica nodded; pleased it seemed Harold had made the right choice. “Come with me,” she motioned him to follow her out of the room. Before Harold reached her so they could, the doctor they’d seen leaving earlier before came back into the room.

Jessica grabbed his arm trying to pull Harold out of the room, pleading with him, “You don’t need to hear this.” Harold didn't heed her warning instead he stood there watching John doing what he thought was best.

John was trying to hold back his tears, but was failing as he choked out, “Take him off support. I have to let him go.”

Harold broke free of the hold Jessica still had on his arm and fled out the door on his own when another surgeon entered the room to speak to John about donating his body’s organs. He was looking out a window in a lobby across from the room when he felt Jessica’s presence. “It was just so unsettling. I should never have arranged it so John had the final say. Tell me what to do, I need to go back. I can’t do this to him!”

Jessica hummed her approval. “Yes. We had to be sure that you really wanted it. It’s not easy; the agony is intense while you return to your body. Then there is the physical damage that was done to it. You’ll have that; the healing may never be complete. You won't remember this place or that you chose to go back to the frailties of your human body. Is John worth it?”

“Yes...” Harold’s fears and doubts disappeared in an instant with that one word. “Yes, he is.”

Harold had been so focused on his own dilemma, it never crossed his mind that Jessica had loved John too and she was giving him up in a way. “I’m sorry.”

As Finch tried to apologize further, Jessica just smiled at him. “Just promise me you’ll keep taking good care of him. That is the only apology I’ll ever need. Now, we need to get you back.” Her eyes widened when she saw some other medical personnel entering the room. “Hurry we don’t have much time!” She grabbed his arm again pulling him into the room once more.

John was still sitting next to the bed, his eyes even more red rimmed from crying and he was softly speaking to himself saying “I’m sorry Harold,” over and over.

“What do I do?” Harold was panicking now. These people were waiting for his last breath, his last heartbeat before they whisked his body off to surgery somewhere.

Jessica shoved Finch next to the bed and hurriedly told him, “Just close your eyes and see yourself going back. That’s it, trust me. Now go!”

Harold did and closed his eyes.

Jessica whispered to the empty air as Harold’s form shimmered and disappeared. “I love you John. Be happy my love.” She disappeared herself going back to her own piece of heaven.

Nathan Ingram was sitting alone in the cabin, a bittersweet smile on his face. “Be happy Harold, you will forever be my one true love.”

Joss Carter sat looking out over the ocean once again. “Be happy my vigilante friends. I’ll see you both here on the other side someday."

The pain was excruciating, but Harold kept fighting through it. He kept swimming against the dark torrents of agony, his need to be with John again spurring him on. Then the darkness and torment turned to light. Harold briefly opened his eyes, to the face he wanted to see more than heaven itself, “John?” Harold rasped brokenlybefore closing them again.

~~~~

Reese sat at Harold’s side and watched as the nurse removed the breathing tube, pulled out the IV needle from Harold’s arm, and unfastened the pressure cuff. When she was done John's hand trembled when he reached over and turned the machines off. Along with the doctors, John waited for the RN listening to Harold’s heart with a stethoscope to tell them all Harold was gone.

None of them expected a shaken nurse to exclaim excitedly “Doctor you need to hear this!”

“This shouldn't be happening!” the doctor confirmed although in shocked disbelief, “Mr. Tanager is breathing on his own.”

"Harold! Harold!" Reese had called out and grabbed Finch's hand. John just couldn't believe what he was hearing until Harold opened his eyes briefly and tried calling John by name. Tears of joy started streaming down his face.

The doctors rushed him out of the room; they needed to run tests, they said. They would let him back in the room when they found out what was happening and why; they would let him know.

But, John only cared about one thing. Through some miracle Harold had found a way back to him.

~~*~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more to go, than a h/c epilogue  
> And some make up smex too.


	12. The End (?)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There will be a long road ahead as Finch recovers  
> but the road starts with forgiveness and love.
> 
> “I’m so sorry Finch, I made some horrible mistakes. I mistook a deep friendship for love. I abandoned the only person I have ever truly loved and it almost cost you your life. I’m going to make it up to you. Please try to forgive me.” After John sobbed out those last pleading words, he dropped the hand he’d been holding, fisted the gown covering Finch’s chest, laid his head there and wept.
> 
> ‘I already have, John. I already have’ Harold thought, his hand soothing over one of John’s shoulder wracking from his sobs. The strokes began to falter as Reese calmed. “I love you, John.” Harold breathed out as the drugs pulled him under again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end or is it?
> 
> There will be a long road ahead as Finch recovers  
> but the road starts with forgiveness and love.

  

Harold lay there in the hospital bed, looking around, slightly confused. This was his first moment of consciousness with any clarity since Hersh had pointed a gun at him and fired, the pain exploding in his chest, Shaw kneeling beside him, and then nothing.

Dawn was just beginning to break outside the hospital window. Yes he was in a hospital, as he could hear the steady beeping of a heart monitor, the tick-ticking of an IV machine near his head and the far off voice over an intercom paging someone to radiology.

Finch turned his head slightly to look at the man at his bedside. There was John Reese sleeping uncomfortably in a wing-back chair that he probably had procured from a waiting room somewhere, brought to Finch’s room, and pulled close to Harold’s bedside.

John slept holding Harold’s left hand firmly in his right. Harold was vaguely aware of, _‘was it days?’_ , that he’d drifted in and out of consciousness. He wasn’t quite clear on anything that happened during them, except that John would almost always be there holding his hand. 

Reese would let go and leave the room only long enough to let a nurse check his vitals or change IV’s or when one of the doctors came in to examine him. Harold didn’t recall much of that, drifting away before they would finish their tasks, those people only spectral images in a drug induced haze. He wasn’t sure if he was coming around again in minutes or hours later. It was always to a swimming image of Reese in the room once again sitting next to him; however, the grasp of John’s hand was strong around his own.

Harold smiled slightly behind the oxygen mask he now felt covering his nose and mouth. John was here, with him. There was an awareness that something vital that he had been missing was now returned. Peace and a sense of wholeness washed over him in waves. Only that euphoria was short lived when it was replaced by the hurtful remembrance of why Reese had gone away.

Voices were jumbled in his head. “It’s not easy, the agony is intense while you return to your body. Then there is the physical damage that was done to it. You’ll have that; the healing may never be complete ... Is John worth it?”... “Yes.”... “I know he’s hurt you. But John’s lost his way again. You gave him a reason to live once. John needs that again”... “John needs you, Harold, it’s always been you.”... “There’s nothing I want more. It’s just...it’s not what you want. I won’t let you settle. You need to at least tell John how you feel. Tell him. He knows you would never lie to him.”

Harold had been somewhere with Jessica, and Nathan, and even Carter, in a place peaceful and free of suffering. Jessica had told Finch that he wouldn’t remember, but he did. Harold had watched from somewhere above as John turned off the machines keeping his body alive, but Finch had already made his choice. Harold remembered closing his eyes and willing himself to return. Being with John again helped him fight through the waves and waves of excruciating agony. Then it had all stopped. For a brief moment Harold had heard a doctor shouting out something and John’s crying out, then he had opened his eyes to John’s beautiful face. _“John?”_ Finch remembered trying to speak; he’d come back here, for John.

The sobbed “John?” that escaped from Harold now, was wrenched out because of the ache he felt in his heart and the increasing physical discomfort. Instantly Reese was awake and leaning over him.

John carefully removed the oxygen mask from Finch’s face. “John?” Harold rasped out again, his throat sore and his mouth dry.

“Shhh, now. I’m here. Don’t try and talk”, John soothed Harold with a soft voice, his hand now gently caressing Harold’s forehead and smoothing back his hair.

“You were intubated, that’s why your throat’s sore.” The answer to the unspoken question when Harold put a hand to his throat. “Here, just a few sips, it’ll help.” John held a straw in an ice water filled hospital-logo-ed plastic tumbler to Finch’s lips.

When Reese saw Harold wincing, he reached over and adjusted an I.V. drip line. “It’s for the pain, Harold, it’s okay, I’m allowed.” John smiled briefly and conspiratorially down at him.

John sat back down in the chair, took up Harold’s hand once again, looked down and watched as he stroked his own thumb over the back of Harold’s hand. Tears began rolling down his cheeks before he looked up at Harold’s face.

“I’m so sorry Finch, I made some horrible mistakes. I mistook a deep friendship for love. I abandoned the only person I have ever truly loved and it almost cost you your life. I’m going to make it up to you. Please try to forgive me.” After John sobbed out those last pleading words, he dropped the hand he’d been holding, fisted the gown covering Finch’s chest, laid his head there and wept.

‘I already have, John. I already have’ Harold thought, his hand making a soothing motion over one of John’s shoulders wracking from his sobs. The strokes began to falter as Reese calmed. “I love you, John,” Harold mumbled out incoherently as the drugs pulled him under again.

Reese looked up; relief washed over him to see Harold had only fallen asleep. The words might have been slurred and hard to understand, but John's heart heard them clearly. The sorrow and despair he’d felt for weeks was replaced now by hope and a sense of peace. John raised himself up to kiss Harold softly on the lips before replacing the mask and whispered, “I love you too.”

~~~***~~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am writing an epilogue to this full of hurt/comfort and make up-smex  
> Soon I hope.
> 
> Thanks for reading and stay tuned!
> 
> Edit: Well I know I know it's June now but I finally quit procrastinating and the epilogue is actually started.  
> Edit...again: **Finally, it is June, only my bad that it's a year later than intended, the epilogue has been written and posted!!!**


	13. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yeah!!!! At long last the epilogue I have promised going on two years. Better late than never, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harold and John six grueling months later  
> hurt/comfort  
> smex at last  
> Thanks to menagerie for helping with Harold's _battle plan_

  

_Six Months Later_

The click of a door closing stirred Harold Finch in his semi-sleep, his mind supplied that it was a nurse or another one of the hospital staff leaving the room. Harold stretched a bit, felt the ever present twinge in his chest that protested whenever he moved, then snuggled his head into the pillow to let sleep claim him again — whatever they wanted, whoever it was hadn't intended to disturb his rest.

As he had done for days and nights for months now Harold listened for the sounds of the monitors — the click-click-click of an IV machine that dispensed fluids or medications into his arm and the beeping of the heart monitor — the pages to this doctor or that day or night over the intercom, and the ever present background noise as a lullaby. It was safe to close his eyes, to sleep; he was alive!

Only there was no noise. The room was exploding around him in its silence. Harold sat up as best he could — there were no handrails of a hospital bed to grab — blinked to clear sand filled eyes and looked about. Finally his sleep addled mind caught up to reality. Harold was home.

The shutters to the loft’s tall windows were still lowered but Finch could see the morning light streaming in through the cracks. He could smell John’s coffee brewing in the coffee maker and cinnamon rolls baking in the oven. The door closing must have been Reese leaving to take Bear for his morning walk as the canine’s plush doggie bed was empty.

Harold relaxed back against the mound of pillows Finch remembered John had propped under him when he’d finally helped Harold into bed last night. He’d been so exhausted after sitting in his room three long hours, dressed and ready to go waiting to be released, then a cab ride to a garage in northeast Brooklyn and the return trip to the loft in John’s car — there had been no more trouble from Control or her NSA minions, but better safe than sorry making sure they weren’t followed — that he had barely eaten the small welcome home dinner John had ready and Reese had to actually pick him up to carry him to the bed.

Finch looked around the remodeled loft. All along the walls were tasteful handrails that almost blended into the decor. It had taken five months of intense physical therapy before he could walk again on his own, yet still it was only small steps and short distances. After the ferry explosion he was angered by having to use anything like handrails, or canes, or wheelchairs, but now, Harold looked upon John’s thoughtfulness as the greatest kind of love and respect. Reese wanted, even needed, to be there to care for Finch, yet understood he needed to let Harold have some sort of independence.

Finch thought back over the past six months. They had referred to Harold’s waking up when his life support was turned off as a miracle, as he had been declared clinically dead and even his recovery as one. Only that wasn’t so much divine intervention as Harold’s bull headed determination to get better. Harold just didn’t open his eyes and leap from the bed ready to waltz out the front doors. It had taken teams of occupational and physical therapists to retrain his body how to do everything from speaking clearly, to cutting up his food and feeding himself, to walking again.

Harold could only speculate TM had something to do with it but his foster brother, John Brandon—Reese's alias, had once been a therapist working in a hospital helping wounded vets when he had been in the service. John was allowed to use his life experience along with some retraining alongside Harold’s therapists to become a licensed PT. When Finch was released John was trained in everything he needed to know to care for Harold’s needs.

If the NSA was to ever figure out Harold Finch was Harold Tanager they would never trace him. John Brandon, Harold Tanager and his niece became ghosts, their addresses on file nonexistent. Harold Tanager’s physical files, as far as hospital records showed, were sent via a well-known carrier company to a physician in California as requested by the family. Even though the carrier company had a tracking number containing every detail of those file's pickup and delivery, in actuality they were hand delivered to Meg Tillman personally by an employee of the company who never existed. As for files on any computer database — hospital, physician, physical or occupational therapist — those were wiped clean the moment the cab pulled away from the curb.

In all probabilities the NSA wasn’t even looking. Sameen had come to visit him, while John had been conveniently absent, to report she had made a visit to Agent Hersh. No, she hadn’t killed him, just carried on like Hersh had indeed murdered Harold. Shaw had threatened that if she even heard rumors of him or any NSA operatives in New York State, she would come back and finish the job. Shaw told him to give Control a message, to be thankful TM was still giving them numbers, to do her job, protect the country, and that Author Claypoole had passed away in his sleep, the drives for his creation were now lost forever.

Finch slid his legs out of bed, stood up, and slipped on his robe that was folded at the foot of the bed. Nature was telling him it was time to test out those handrails as he made his way to the loft’s bathroom. The old porcelain tub and shower had been replaced by a walk-in tub complete with bars to lower one’s body down on knee high ledges. Harold looked longingly at the set up while washing his hands. He knew John would wait outside close by if Harold needed him, but the thought of bathing alone for the first time in what seemed like forever wouldn't be like heaven — he had been there — but close enough.

When Harold let himself out to make his slow progression back to the bed or wherever he was met by an anxious Bear who skidded to a stop his body’s length from Finch’s feet. The Malinois stretched his muzzle up and forward to be close enough for Finch to rub him between the ears like Harold used to without being so close as to cause Harold to fall. Finch scratched the velvety ears especially the one Bear favored while the dog inched closer. The dog never pushed hard enough to make Finch lose his balance, but leaned in as close as he could and whined.

“He missed you almost as much as I have.”

John Reese was standing in the doorway to the kitchen, a steaming cup in each hand. His low husky voice choked up as he looked at Harold, his long dark lashes darkened even more as they blinked away the tears of joy threatening to fall down his cheeks.

***

John Reese, Mr. Brandon as the nurse called him just now, stood up, patted Harold, Mr. Tanager, on the knee, and followed the nurse out the door. For the third time in the past two hours, John had been shown to another of the on staff physical therapist's offices, to be handed another inch thick packet of instructions containing step by step exercises to continue at home once Harold Tanager was released. John again listened without showing his impatience to more repetitions on the how to's for exercises he and the therapist had done almost every day with Finch since Harold started therapy. John just wanted to get Harold home.

The past six months had not been easy for either of them. While Harold’s gunshot wound had healed without further complications, a myriad of others caused by the stroke seemed to manifest themselves almost daily for two weeks.

Even though the hospital still buzzed what a miracle it was that Harold had come back from the dead there was no miraculous recovery afterwards. Until Samantha Groves, probably with instructions from her goddess TM — John still didn’t trust Root’s motives — worked some magic to get John qualified as a PT in training to work with Harold’s therapists, he had had to sit on the sidelines while Finch’s body had to be retrained to even do the simplest of tasks.

Reese was at the hospital from the moment they would let him into Harold’s room in the morning until they literally ordered him to go home at night, doing whatever he could to help in Finch’s recovery. From bed pans, to massaging Harold’s inactive limbs to prevent atrophy, to listening to Harold read — repeating a word over and over until his tongue wouldn’t trip over it — and even guiding a shaky hand from plate to mouth as Harold learned how to feed himself again, John was there.

There hadn’t been a thing that had come easy; it had been a long hard road to this day. If it were not for Harold’s sheer force of will and John’s dogged determination to aid Harold in every way possible, Finch might never have been able to live anywhere outside the confines of round the clock medical care. But between the two of them, they had beaten the odds. Harold was being released today. That was if the slow wheels of hospital bureaucracy would turn faster!

Finally...finally, after three hours of waiting the nurse brought in the wheelchair to push Harold out to the waiting cab, with John and two orderlies carrying out Harold Tanager’s effects.

Harold had leaned into John’s side in the backseat, remaining quiet the whole time, as the cab took them to the parking garage where Reese had hidden his own car. The cab driver barely lifted an eye and nodded in understanding when John handed him an extra $500 over the cab fare. John helped Harold into the back seat of the sedan and moved Harold’s belongings to the trunk. As the cab drove away, John looked around the parking garage; no one had been watching. Reese pulled the car out into the street keeping an eye on the rear view mirror at the cars behind them for miles until he was sure they weren’t being followed, and then he turned the car in the direction of the loft.

Although things between them were still strained, he and Shaw had made a truce of sorts. During one of their talks Shaw had informed him of her visit with the man who had almost killed Finch. There was little chance Hersh, or Control, or anyone from the NSA believed Harold was even alive let alone still searching for him. After today Harold Tanager, his niece, and foster brother no longer existed, but Reese still wanted to take no chances.

John parked the sedan in its reserved spot then jumped out to help Harold who had already opened his door and was getting out. Reese knew it wouldn’t do any good to suggest Harold wait for the wheelchair John had rented instead of walking. So, Reese let Harold hold on to his arm for support as they slowly progressed towards and into the elevator. Harold was breathing heavy and dropped like a stone onto John’s sofa when they finally made it inside.

Reese was a bit disappointed, but really not surprised when Harold barely touched any of the salad or the casserole John had reheated for them both. It was barely six PM; Finch was trying hard not to fall asleep right there at the table when John stood, pulled Harold’s chair back, and scooped him up in his arms to carry him to Reese’s bed.

Fifteen minutes later after John had redressed Finch in his pajamas, arranged the mound of pillows for him to lay back on, and then covered Harold with the sheet and blanket, the man was softly snoring as John sat on the side of the bed watching and listening. It was the most beautiful sight and wondrous sound; Harold was finally back where he belonged, in John Reese’s bed.

John had barely noticed two hours had past when Lionel Fusco knocked at the door to bring Bear home. His son Lee and Lionel’s ex-wife had been keeping the dog this past week. The disturbance had awakened Harold who thanked Lionel for his concern when Fusco asked how he was and also for taking care of the canine. He watched while John settled Bear into his own bed and then asked John to join him in theirs.

John brought a glass of water and the pharmacy bag containing Harold’s prescriptions. After John made sure Harold had taken all of his nighttime medications he stripped to his boxers and slid under the covers. Of course, Harold was soundly sleeping again moments after John put his arm over Harold’s chest and slid one leg between the other man’s two. Reese curled his body so he could lay an ear over Harold’s heart. The steady beat lulled Reese to sleep only this time there was no screech of an alarm somewhere to wake John, only a wet nose pushing at his hand early the next morning.

John used the toilet then dressed in a pair of old sweats and a tee, popped open a tin of cinnamon rolls to bake in the oven, started the coffee maker, slipped on a pair of worn jogging shoes and took Bear out for a brief morning walk. Harold was out of bed, obviously in the restroom when the duo re-entered the apartment.

Reese went into the kitchen, pulled the rolls out of the oven to frost them when they had cooled some, poured himself a cup of coffee, and some hot water for Harold’s tea in another and stood in the kitchen doorway to watch Bear and Harold’s reunion.

John had to blink back the tears as he watched. Maybe he had been too swept up in his own grief to notice how much Bear had suffered too without Harold.

John cleared his throat, his emotions choking him up, “He missed you almost as much as I have.”

***

John set both cups down on the table then pulled out Harold’s chair holding tightly to its back to keep from rushing to the elder man’s side and hold on to his arm. Reese couldn’t restrain his audible sigh of relief when Finch was able to shuffle over, Bear steady on one side letting Harold use him for support, then sit down in the proffered chair.

When Reese moved to go back into the kitchen Harold reached for John’s hand and held it tightly. The words were spoken breathily, yet firm with reassurance, “Don’t worry so much, John. I’m fine. We’re fine. Whether I keep getting better or not, we are together again. That’s all that really matters, right? I love you...so much.”

Reese wanted to fall to his knees and put his head in Harold’s lap, beg him for forgiveness one more time because John would never forget he was to blame. No matter how many times Harold would say there was nothing to forgive, Reese never could or would release himself from that guilt. Instead, John gripped Harold’s hand back to rest firm in his palm while he looked down at Finch, his answer full of resolve and determination, “You’re going to keep getting better and I’m going to make sure of it. But, if this is as good as it gets, I’m never going to leave you, not again. You and I together **is** all that matters. I love you Harold Finch.”

Harold smiled up at John then, the one with the curl at the corner of the lip, the one that reached Harold’s pale blue eyes lighting them up, the one that made John’s heart skip beats. There was a not quite laugh as Harold hinted, “I thought I smelled cinnamon earlier. I didn’t eat much last night, although the meal was quite delicious and I apologize for that, so now I am almost famished. A cinnabun drowned in icing is quite sinful dietary wise but after six months of barely palatable hospital fare I feel like being bad.”

John gave Harold’s hand a shake then actually laughed, “Coming right up, one decadent cinnabun that oozes with sticky, sugary sweet icing.” Thirty minutes later, Harold had finished off two cinnamon rolls, six crispy bacon slices, scrambled eggs, two glasses of orange juice, and three cups of his Sencha Green. Reese vowed from this breakfast on he would serve meals strict to Finch’s recommended diet, but for now John gave thanks that Harold ate...and ate.

Finch was so thin after all that had happened. Maybe it wasn’t the best thing to want Harold to have his bit of tummy, those love handles, and plump ass back. Maybe it was crazy to think this way, but now that Harold was home John wanted to make love with him again only he too afraid of Harold’s frailty.

With Reese’s help Harold dressed in the workout clothes he wore during his therapy sessions in the hospital. For the rest of the morning they worked on the exercises Harold needed to do to strengthen his hands, his upper arms, and his legs. John’s closet of doom had been refitted and held everything needed to aid Finch; matter-of-fact, Harold thought that closet’s contents exceeded everything the hospital’s entire therapy room contained.

After lunch, John pulled a machine out from under the bed and assembled it. At one point the machine looked like the ones to help you walk and exercises your arms simultaneously then John did some alterations to where it was an exercise bike also. Harold worked thirty minutes at his own pace on the machine until John called time. John pulled out a massage table from the other side of the bed, set it up and gave Harold a full body massage. John worked out the knots, kneaded every muscle and tendon in Harold’s body until they were warm and loose.  

That part of the regimen done Harold was allowed to stretch out and nap on John’s bed. Reese himself, still dressed in his own sweats, leashed Bear and took him out for the dog’s run and exercise for the day.

Before dinner the three would walk over to the park and sit enjoying the evening air. Most of the time Harold would sit at a game table, maybe play a game of chess with another park goer while John tossed a ball or stick around for Bear to retrieve.

So for the next three weeks that was the two’s daily routine. Finch could feel himself getting stronger every day — even when he wanted to give in, sometimes begging he had had enough, John only pushed him harder. Yet, even though they kissed, they hugged and held each other tight; John treated him like he was breakable glass when they were in bed. Harold wanted John again and he could feel Reese wanted the same only something was holding John back. Finch would wake in the middle of the night with John wrapped around him as if he let go Harold would just disappear. Harold would lay there thinking, fingers stroking through John’s dark and silky gray peppered hair.

_What can I do to get you to completely love me again?_

*******

Harold wasn’t one to keep secrets from his lovers unless they were necessary to the safety of everyone he loved. However, since weeks had gone by with John ignoring Harold’s erections in the morning, rushing to the bathroom with his own arousal, and all but dunking his head in a bucket of ice water to avoid anything sexual between them, Harold understood the need for a battle plan.

Finch was not a vain man. He had been aware of his physical appearance from a very early age. He wasn’t tall, he wasn’t handsome by most accounts, and he certainly wasn’t male model material. However, there was no doubt based on good first-hand experience that one John Reese found him irresistible in all his fussy glory

So, to that end Harold had Sameen retrieve it from the safe house where he’d last closeted it **—** his favorite purple suit with its green plaid vest and colorful tie/pocket square combination. He polished his shoes and aired out the whole outfit whenever Reese was away from the apartment. It took nearly a week to have everything arranged without John becoming suspicious.

Even so, the anticipation and fear of rejection had Harold keyed up and snappish. Finally the day came where Harold woke up silently at five AM. He carefully scooted out of bed so as not to wake John. He told Bear to be quiet. John would assume Harold was going to the bathroom and would be returning soon. Instead, Harold got dressed and opened the front door. Silently as if on little cat feet, Fusco and Shaw crept in with a few boxes.

They swiftly set up Harold’s computer on John’s pitiful desk. They left just as silently. Harold set the coffee timer. As soon as the first drip hit the fragrant grounds the loft was bathed in the delicious smell of freshly brewed coffee. Harold paid no attention to John as he shuffled around trying to wake up. Finally, Reese sat up pushing the covers down to his waist and yawned loudly. “Morning, Harold.”

Harold looked up from over his glasses in a noncommittal fashion and simply said, “Good morning, Mr. Reese.”

The older man went back to his screen. He began typing up code as if the six months absence never happened. The fact that he was coding a web page that most neopet owners could have done was neither here nor there. Harold just needed to be doing what he always did, doing what John had fallen in love with.

Reese scratched his head, but got out of bed anyway. He walked into the kitchen to the coffee machine to find two paper cups. One said ‘John’ in permanent marker the other said ‘Harold’ with a tea bag inside. John looked around, found an electric kettle like the old one in the Library, filled it and clicked it on. While waiting for the water to boil John poured some coffee into his marked cup. He noticed a pink box of pastries and a cardboard cup holder on the island counter.

What really shocked him was the black Brooks Brother’s suit complete with white shirt hanging by the knob on one of the cabinets. It was one of John’s old suits. Surprised, John stepped into the doorway to look over at Finch who was still seated at the old desk and steadfastly ignoring everything but his screen. John smiled to himself. He poured the hot water over Harold's tea bag, set the lids on both cups, set each up in the holder then slipped into the bathroom; suit in hand, to change. When he came out less than four minutes later he was _The Man in the Suit_ again.

Finch never looked up once as John went past back into the kitchen to pick up the cardboard holder with one hand and the pastry box with the other. He walked over to the desk, “Morning Finch!” He set the cup of Sencha Green tea next to the keyboard and settled the box next to that. He tipped open the box lid to grab a powdered doughnut and walked over to the window, sipping his coffee and eating his doughnut while he watched Harold.

After a few minutes of Finch gazing, John walked back to the desk and took another doughnut. Harold sniffed but peered inside the box to pull out a cruller. He sipped at his tea and typed with one hand, his better hand.

John found a book, one of Harold’s, and began to read. The click clack of Harold typing at the keyboard, the lullaby of shared mornings in the past, the neatly made up Harold — all of this brought John back to when they had first fallen in love.

That suit Harold had chosen to wear made John grin. It was ridiculous that a grown man who had the power to destroy nations could wear something that the Joker would have chosen and still look respectable. Finch was all starched up. The suit had been tailored to fit Harold’s newer, skinnier frame so this wasn’t some random morning.

John realized in that moment he was being wooed. He was being courted by the same techniques Harold had unwittingly used and that had worked all those years ago. Harold wasn’t fawning all over John. No, Harold was being industrious, aloof, and adorable all on his own as if John wasn't riveted to every keystroke, every slurp, or every teeny, tiny, delicate bite.

John hadn’t seen Harold in a tie for over half a year. His eyes were drawn to the half Windsor knot and the bob of Harold’s Adam’s apple when he swallowed. John’s own mouth salivated at the idea of pulling the tie loose, of unbuttoning the starched shirt, and then inhaling all that expensive cologne.

John was reminded of every filthy, dirty daydream he ever had while waiting for a new Number. This was absurd. John had bathed and clothed Harold every day; he had seen the man naked, bare, and at his very worst.

Yet, the sight of Harold wrapped like a package nearly floored him. The rush of need, the itch in his fingers to have his mouth on that Adam’s apple, to scratch at the hair on that chest, to slither to his knees and unbuckle the fine bespoke trousers; this, **this** was the tipping point for John.

All the carefulness, the gentleness, the avoidance of anything having to do with sex was being undermined by a well-dressed Finch. John had come to learn that as Harold’s suits became more elaborate and bright, so too had Harold's need for John’s attention.

Essentially, the man with the bird names courted John like a peacock strutting, showing his plumes. It was embarrassing that John found the display so arousing. But if anything could send the message that Harold was ready for more it was that suit.

Last time Finch had worn it they had to use a different dry cleaner because John had come all over it. Harold had been mortified for the old couple at his usually place to see it.

John laughed to himself. He was outgunned in this fight. He wanted Harold, Harold wanted him. Why fight it?

John stood up and walked over to his boss. “Do we have a new Number?”

Harold swiveled his chair and arched an eyebrow. “No, it seems we have the day to ourselves.”

John smirked and did what he had needed to do all morning; he slowly fell to his knees, ignoring the popping sound of age and misuse. His hands skimmed down the length of Harold's thighs, up and down, warming them. John leaned close to Harold’s throat and kissed him just where Finch’s jaw met his earlobe. John’s own stubble scratched against smooth, freshly shaven skin.

He whispered softly, “I guess we need to find something to occupy our time. Idle hands and all that as the saying goes.”

Harold took in a shaky breath while he turned his head slightly up and sideways giving John more access to his neck. Finch lifted his right hand from the desk, ran the palm up across the back of Reese’s suit before slipping his fingertips under the collar of John’s shirt to skim them lightly up and down John’s neck right below the vee of his lower hair line. Any appearances he had been trying to keep up that this was just another day at The Library vanished the moment Harold’s voice cracked when he asked, “Anything you have in mind, Mr. Reese?”

John pressed quick kisses along the proffered neck from Harold’s earlobe to his object of desire, licking from hollow of Finch’s neck up to right below his chin before sucking greedily on it, feeling under his tongue that Harold's breaths were quickening. Reese pulled his mouth away, straightened to look at Harold’s face and rasped out, “John, please call me John.”

Harold ran the tip of his tongue over his lips watching John’s eyes widen with want at the action, Harold swallowed and corrected his question by panting out, “Anything you have in mind...John?”

Reese let Harold reach out to pull him in for a kiss and kiss they did. After so many months of being denied, they let each of their tongues reacquaint itself with the taste and feel of the other’s mouth.

John was the one to finally pull back. Reese reached between them to loosen Harold’s tie and free it, tossing it on the keyboard. He unbuttoned Harold’s waist coat, shirt, and the buttons on Harold’s fly to pull the shirt tails free and bare Finch’s chest. John then leaned in to run his hands through the thick and curling chest hair from Harold’s belly button upwards while letting his tongue lick and his lips kiss following the trail of his hands.

Harold in the meanwhile was letting his fingers curl into John’s hair holding on to Reese’s head only tugging John’s head onwards and moaning, “Don’t stop!” when John’s lips hovered over the scar from Harold’s bullet wound.

John did continue his mouth’s journey upwards until his lips reached Harold’s again. The two kissed desperately moaning into each other’s mouths, Finch pushing his hips forward so John could feel Harold’s growing erection pressing against his stomach.

Reese groaned against Harold’s mouth before he hastily stood and stepped back. John had to pause between words as he heavily breathed out while stripping at the same time, “If I...” The suit jacket came off landing on the floor followed soon after by the popping of buttons as John tore off his shirt and tossed it on top of the jacket, “…seem to recall…” shoes, socks, and pants followed until John was bare, “you stripped me down.” John scooped Harold from the chair and carried him to the bed to lie him down. 

Reese huffed out looking down at Harold, John’s erection hard and dripping now, “I know this isn’t exactly how it happened.” John leaned over to remove Harold's glasses from his face and set them on the nightstand. Reese then straddled Finch’s hips before pulling Harold’s throbbing cock free of his silk boxers to stroke it, “Then you let me fuck myself on your long, thick, delicious cock and I came all over this beautiful suit.”

John pressed his knees tightly to Harold's hips and leaned over Finch’s chest so their lengths were rubbing together. Their eyes locked as John pleaded, “I know we aren’t sitting in that chair, this is just my bed, but I need you inside me again Harold...please Harold, please? John sobbed then, “Forgive me for not letting this happen sooner. God, it’s been so long.”

Harold could barely choke out, “Nothing to forgive,” and pulled the supplies they needed from under his pillow.

John grabbed the tube of lube and squeezed some out on his own finger tips. Harold nodded that he understood when John lifted his ass to reach behind preparing his own opening to accept Harold’s width inside. While John scissored himself open Harold used his hands together to stroke both their cocks until both seemed to weep for release.

John was the one to open the packet, to slide the condom slowly down Harold’s cock, and then slick up the thin covering with more lube.

John rose up holding Harold’s cock still as he let the head penetrate his ring of muscle. Both men moaned loudly at the breech, John’s, “Nng” and Harold’s warning, “Slowly.”

Only John didn’t heed it and impaled himself to Harold’s root, gasping at the combination of burn and exquisite pleasure. Finch gave up trying to take things slowly as he too became lost in the pleasure when John started to snap his hips quickly, fucking Harold's cock inside him.

Finch tried to hold back, but it had been so long. He raked John’s back with blunt nails then wrapped his arms over it to cling tight as his balls drew up, his body stiffened, and as he felt his cockhead spurt out wave after wave of semen.

Reese must have felt the pulse in Harold’s cock as it released Harold's seed inside him because a second later John grunted as his own climax coated both their chests with his pearly white essence.

After their endorphin high was just a pleasurable sensation, John pulled off, removed the cum filled condom from Harold’s penis to toss in the garbage, and then got up from the bed on weak legs that barely stayed up under him as he headed for the bathroom.

Reese somehow made it back to the bed; he washed the drying semen from Harold’s chest before stripping Finch down to nothing but skin. John thought Finch had fallen back to sleep as it was still early morning when he stretched out next to Harold’s prone, still, and softly breathing form.

Finch opened one eye and linked his fingers in the ones of John’s hand that he had placed over Harold’s heart giving them a reassuring squeeze, “That might not have been like the first time. This was sooo much better. I love you so much John Reese, even when I’m an idiot and forget to let you know that.”

John slid a leg between Finch’s and kissed Harold's clavicle above their linked hands, the breath from John’s whispered words, “I love you too Harold Finch, always,” against Harold’s skin made him shiver and laugh a bit as it tickled him also.

Reese smiled as that little laugh just seemed to make any dark clouds that were still lingering in his mind evaporate into bright sunshine.

John chuckled, “No, it wasn’t like the first time.” John reached for the fancy waist coat and held it up. “No tell-tale stains on this.”

Harold grabbed it from John’s hand, tossed it carelessly away then pulled John’s face to his and smiled, “No, not this time.” He kissed John deeply, sighing when they finally broke apart, “Not this time.”

****

John and Harold, Bear between them, opened the gates and entered The Library after a long eighteen month absence. The two had been kept in the loop until they both were ready to return to the Mission.

Harold’s work station had been returned to the same state as it had been when he had walked out that day to help his friend Author Claypoole. Only Finch couldn't help but admire the system that Root, Samantha Groves, had set up. She still wasn’t forgiven for her past transgressions nor had she totally earned everyone’s trust, but she had acted admirably in Finch’s stead as the Mission’s tech guru.

John and Harold’s board of numbers was still there but it had been enlarged with more colors of string for every number helped or stopped by Shaw and her new comrades. Ex CIA or any other agency _retirees_ who needed safe haven and work. Sameen herself had vetted each candidate fit to help in their cause.

It was only weeks after their return that the rumors began to spread through the streets of New York City; _The Man in the Suit_ is back.

Finis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This can now be a fix it fic. The Library still exists. Samaritan never came to be because Finch never opened that safety deposit box. Shaw dealt with Control. TM lives!!!!!  
>  **No one trusts** Root although she does help.  
>  The numbers are still coming, John and Harold continue their mission in the future but they have help in the interim. Shaw, Fusco, even Samantha Groves  
> Sameen seeks out other wayward government assassins to join the cause

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is love


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